Era 7 Ep. 4: The Blood Moon Rises

[Steel Speedster ♂]

1 hour ago, Koloss17 said:

Famine.

Famine grinned. “That all you got, little lady?” His body surged with renewed life. His teeth, however, stayed broken. I suppose there are limits to these regeneration powers, huh? He wasn’t used to this type of body yet, but most things felt natural. There was so much to learn about human bodies.

With his now repaired legs, he ran at his prey, hands outstretched. “C’mere!”

Pestilence.

Ah, the sweet stench of death. He had missed it. This new body thing was quite nice, he decided. Nothing as cool as his old body, but being able to actually cross into the mortal realm had its perks. 
 

Suddenly, he lost sight to both of his eyes. “Ow—!” His mouth was filled up too. What now? He reflexively stepped back, narrowly dodging a whoosh. He swiftly pulled out the objects lodged in his eyes. His vision quickly returned, followed by a scream as one of the dying mortals had their eyes consumed by plague.

”hfhfff!” Pestilence said angrily, pointing at the new attacker. He then proceeded to run, searching for something to defend himself with.

Fenna stood as her enemy charged again.

One last try.

She crouched, storing as much weight as she could, then flared pewter and sprang straight up. Her legs, weighted by her ironminds retained more momentum, spinning her around so that her head faced towards the ground.

Her feet touched the ceiling, and she allowed her body to coil like a spring.

As the foul creature reached the place she had been standing, Fenna flared her pewter again, tapped her ironminds, becoming a dozen times heavier than normal, and launched herself downwards. She stretched out her hands to seize her enemy, pewter still flared for the impact.

Quote

Do you think this building has a basement?

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

1 hour ago, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Do you think this building has a basement?

Quote

Why do I hear boss music?

According to Wax and Wayne, basements are not unheard of, generally speaking. In terms of constabulary buildings, we haven't actually seen a basement in one of those. But it seems likely. Maybe they keep supplies or paperwork or stuff like that in there.

With this in mind, and pleading the Rule of Cool, I vote yes.

 

Edited September 29, 2024 by Longshot97

[Lunamor she/her]

9 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

"Thank you," he heard distantly. He glanced up. Eza, looking over at the cloaked man. His face was inscrutable, overshadowed by spikes as thick around as a man's wrist. Eighth shuddered.

The man's face suddenly contorted in a rictus of pain. He shuddered, clutching at his side. Then collapsed.

Eighth stepped back. Around them, the Soulless fell soundlessly to the ground. Yet their mouths still moved, even as no sound left their lips.

Clutching his blade, Eighth looked at Eza.

"What is happening?"

A gasp reached them. The cloaked man. The Soulless's eyes flew open, and as one, they rose and stepped to the fallen man, speaking quietly. One gestured at Eza and himself. Eighth stiffened. Danger. Slowly, he retrieved more darts from his cloak, discreetly sliding them into his blowpipes.

"Spare them." Eighth's ears cleared enough to hear that. The cloaked man rose to his feet. "We need some people alive to spread the word."

Eighth frowned. Where the man's voice had been passionate, it now felt...flat. Emotionless. Almost...

Dead.

The man's head whipped up, and he turned to sightlessly stare at the door. Eighth strained his ears, but heard nothing.

"Constables incoming," the man said. Where had the warmth gone? That voice was cold, cold as the darkest Depths. Eighth shivered just to hear it.

"You know your orders," he continued in that same tone. "Dispose of them."

The door to the room flew open, and men poured in like a flood.

Eza watched Perses and the three grotesque monsters fall to the ground with confusion, her head slightly cocked. She wouldn't shed any tears if they had all suddenly had heart attacks or something, but the chances of that happening were astronomically slim.

She just shrugged at Eighth, as if she was worried that speaking would wake up the collapsed monsters. Before she could do anything else, they snapped awake again. The most emaciated monster suggested killing Eza and Eighth, and she nearly bolted right then and there. But Perses rejected that idea, saying that they needed witnesses to spread the word. Maybe he needed them to go tell people about how he had killed Asylum and saved the day.

But then he alerted the monsters of incoming constables and said three awful, terrible words.

Dispose of them.

It wasn't over. She should've known that Perses wouldn't be any different from Asylum. He was a monster too.

9 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

 

 

Eighth watched as the room dissolved into chaos. Blood flew through the air. One man flew past him, a fist-sized hole in his ribs. He struck the wall, and the sickening crack of a broken neck reached Eighth.

They were yet ignored. Seiju gripped his shoulder tightly enough to draw blood. To his eyes, the ways out of the room were clear. Through the roof. Out the door. Into the kitchens, up the stovepipe. Through the wall. Visible only to him, beckoning. Calling.

And yet...

Eighth watched an officer fall to his knees, cradling a young woman. Her skin now had an unhealthy tinge, her sight clouding before his very eyes. She reached a trembling hand towards his face, and he gripped it, tears streaking his cheeks.

The woman's hand fell.

The man bowed his head. Then, without looking, he tore the woman's weapon from her body. He lifted his head, and rage reflected in those tear-stricken eyes. He raised it, screaming his fury to the heavens as fire erupted from his hands.

Eighth looked at Eza beside him. She watched the unfolding massacre beside him. He looked at her. Then at the constables. Then back again.

He set his teeth grimly, then whistled, high and sharp. Seiju looked at him in disbelief. Eighth firmly whistled the same command. She looked at him steadily, gripping his shoulder even more firmly.

Gently, ever so gently, Eighth set his fingers beneath Seiju, and lifted. He forced his hands up with steady, inexorable force. Pain flooded his shoulder as her talons ripped free, blood welling up beneath the coat. He held her before him, meeting her now-stricken eyes sternly.

"Go," he said with finality. Then he set her on Eza's shoulder.

"She will help you escape," he said hurriedly, meeting her eyes. "Heed your instinct. She will do the rest."

He turned. His eyes fell on the Greeneye, felling constables with mere breath. His hand flared with light, and he watched as the creature inhaled, mouth gaping grotesquely.

Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully. The weapon hissed, and two darts flew, aimed directly at the monster's plague-green eyes.

No sooner had the missiles flown than Eighth flung his hand forward. A wave of quicksilver rose, streaming unerringly towards the Soulless's maw. He charged in after the molten silver, blade in hand. He sprinted past a few shocked officers, machete parallel to the ground. A single strike was all he needed.

He would have but one chance.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Speeding Steelrunner @Scars of Hathsin

Eza was about to implore Eighth to run, get out of there before they were both slaughtered, when he decided to do something incredibly stupid. He ripped his bird off of his shoulder, then set it on hers. He told her to go. He wanted to fight. Eighth was giving up his only chance at survival. They'd been given an out. They'd been spared. They could've walked out that door and finally been safe. He was badly injured, bleeding profusely from practically every part of his body. There was no way he would survive this.

She needed to leave without Eighth. She couldn't physically stop him, even in his injured state, and she knew trying to speak to him would only serve to distract him from the monsters trying to hurt him. He wasn't going to make it whether she tried to help or not. Eza was useless in a fight, and would probably only get in the way. She could clearly see her path to survival in her mind's eye, laid out before her like a map. That must've been from Seiju.

She couldn't leave Eighth, though. That meant that she was probably going to die. This was the end.

But she couldn't live with herself if she abandoned her friend.

Eza cursed, then burned iron, searching for any anchor points or objects she could use as projectiles. There were few things sturdy enough to move her, but plenty of bits of what was probably silverware. Some random woman not wearing a uniform was fighting alongside the constables, seeming to be significantly stronger than she looked. That might increase their odds of living from zero to incredibly slim. After getting her bearings, she turned to Eighth. He was fighting the sick monster. She had to help him.

She took a step forwards before freezing, her eyes falling on a different monster. All she could see were those bloodshot eyes. They were filled with nothing but wrath. All encompassing, total wrath. Suddenly, Eza felt that same fury rising up within herself. She hated this monster.

Eza wanted nothing more than to kill it.

She drew her knife, then threw it towards the monster with all of her strength. It nearly hit a constable, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered but hurting this beast. The weapon embedded itself in its shoulder, and for the first time she saw the bulging muscles covering it. The resulting flash of terror was quickly smothered by another surge of anger.

The monster didn't even flinch as the blade pierced its flesh. Instead, it smiled a wide grin. How could it smile? It thought she wasn't a threat. It thought that she was weak. Eza growled. How dare it smile like that. How dare it look down upon her.

She ironpulled on the metal in the hilt of her dagger and yanked it out of the demon's shoulder. It soared back into her hand with a spurt of too-bright crimson. Running at the beast, she lifted her dagger high, aiming for its gut. The monster was so tall that it was the highest point she could reach.

Before she could get within striking distance, she felt a sudden impact as the demon's hand swatted her away. Eza went flying across the room. She managed to pull on door hinges across from her, slowing her down so that when she slammed into the wall she merely lost her breath rather than broke her spine.

She yelled in frustration, then ironpulled on some silverware behind the beast as hard as she could. Forks, butter knives, and spoons launched themselves right into the back of the monster. The forks and knives were sharp enough to stick into its back. A few knives even made it all the way through, though the holes they left closed up quickly.

The knives that exited through the front didn't stop their journey. Eza continued to pull on all of the utensils, trying to sink those embedded in the beast's back further in and not wanting to risk missing any by trying to let go of the ones that made it through. One knife scratched a constable's side and one got stuck in another's arm. She didn't notice, their yelps of pain falling on deaf ears.

It was hard not to notice the knives that got stuck in her own shoulders, though. There were three of them, each in a row. The wood of the wall behind her had luckily been too hard for the dull knives to pierce, so she didn't get stuck in place. That meant she could charge at the monster again.

Eza began to do just that, leaving the knives where they were. Blood slowly seeped from the punctures. She shoved aside constables fighting for their lives without a thought. Her wild eyes didn't see anything but that hateful gaze. All she heard was its grating, infuriating voice.

"This will be fun, tiny one."

@Koloss17 @Longshot97 @Speeding Steelrunner

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Feel free to control War to make it do other stuff too/respond to this after this post, I just controlled it for this post cause there were specific things I wanted it to do.

 

Edited September 29, 2024 by Lunamor
✨grammar✨

[Koloss17 She/They]

Pestilence.

On 9/28/2024 at 8:17 PM, Longshot97 said:

 

Skidding to a halt, he turned and - making firm his grip - drove his blade into the wall.

Any other blade would have snapped against the planks, or else faced unspeakable damage. But this was no sword. This was a tool of his making, specifically shaped to split brush and sever wood. The blade tore through the thin planking and flimsy plaster like a knife through water.

Eighth slashed and cut, and a triangular section of material fell to the floor at his feet. He slapped his wrist against the edge of the gap, spooling a lightline around the perimeter. A tap signaled it to release.

No weapon could kill this beast. They had no chance of beating it, not when it's opponents gave it life. No.

They needed to trap it.

They needed a trapper.

They need me.

Eighth knelt, spooling another line onto the discarded section of wall. He tapped, signaling the line to cease extending, then pulled, swinging the chunk of wood through the air. It whirled about in a circle with a satisfying thrum.

It would have to do.

Eighth drove his blade into the floor and reached out, the veins about his glove flaring to light. He felt at the quicksilver, still in the Soulless's mouth, and felt its eager response.

He clenched his hand into a fist, and yanked, pulling the quicksilver -and hopefully, the Soulless - back his way.

@Koloss17

Pestilence grabbed hold of a fallen sword, just in time. He wasn’t used to using anything other than his own abilities, but this would have to do. 
 

Suddenly, he was pulled back by the metal in his head. This briefly freed his mouth, allowing him to utter a surprised yelp as he was pulled back, his sword returning to the floor.

Famine.

On 9/28/2024 at 9:52 PM, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Fenna stood as her enemy charged again.

One last try.

She crouched, storing as much weight as she could, then flared pewter and sprang straight up. Her legs, weighted by her ironminds retained more momentum, spinning her around so that her head faced towards the ground.

Her feet touched the ceiling, and she allowed her body to coil like a spring.

As the foul creature reached the place she had been standing, Fenna flared her pewter again, tapped her ironminds, becoming a dozen times heavier than normal, and launched herself downwards. She stretched out her hands to seize her enemy, pewter still flared for the impact.

 

Famine watched as his assailant ride into the air at speeds normal mortals couldn’t. He wasn’t used to having to dodge things, so he didn’t. What was the worst that could happen? He was nearly immortal with the amount of energy he had absorbed. 
 

He and the woman crashed through the floor, falling into a basement area. The basement seemed to be a storage room, with a variety of spare supplies strewn about, including spare chairs, papers, and various other desk supplies. As Famine hit the floor, he heard most of his chest bones breaking. They began to heal, but the crushing weight on him kept some from healing. He felt his remaining regeneration begin to whittle away. “Get off, woman!” He reached his hands to her, in an attempt to stop her. With horror, he realized that his hands weren’t responding to him. Aw, great.
 

War.

On 9/28/2024 at 11:41 PM, Lunamor said:

 

It was hard not to notice the knives that got stuck in her own shoulders, though. There were three of them, each in a row. The wood of the wall behind her had luckily been too hard for the dull knives to pierce, so she didn't get stuck in place. That meant she could charge at the monster again.

Eza began to do just that, leaving the knives where they were. Blood slowly seeped from the punctures. She shoved aside constables fighting for their lives without a thought. Her wild eyes didn't see anything but that hateful gaze. All she heard was its grating, infuriating voice.

 

@Koloss17 @Longshot97 @Speeding Steelrunner

 

"This will be fun, tiny one."
He really did mean it. The raw rage seeping through her fueled him. Some of it was his doing, admittedly. But a lot of it came from her. 
 

Spikes, silverware, and metal shards began popping off from his body. His clothes were even more tattered, but the physical wounds healed. Such rage…

With a gleeful bound, he moved to smash the tiny girl. Though he fed off of active rage, an angry death fueled him more. He hesitated. Wasn’t this someone they were told not to hurt? He glanced over to the boss, who was busy with someone else. Well, she did attack first, so it’s not his fault for fighting back. 
 

He wound up a massive punch, aiming it at the girl’s chest. His arm was nearly as big as she was.

Quote

Covering all of the POVs is hard work . However, it is fun. Feel free to god mod these folks a bit, as so long as it feels in character, you’re good. At this point, you guys get the gist of their power sets and personalities. However, I am more than happy to control them as well. Whatever works for you guys!

 

Edited September 30, 2024 by Koloss17

[Longshot97 he/him]

4 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

Pestilence grabbed hold of a fallen sword, just in time. He wasn’t used to using anything other than his own abilities, but this would have to do. 

Suddenly, he was pulled back by the metal in his head. This briefly freed his mouth, allowing him to utter a surprised yelp as he was pulled back, his sword returning to the floor.

Quote

Thanks - I was worried about pacing and such when it came to avoiding godmod. I swear to wield this power responsibly

The Greeneye flew across the room, dragged by his head, faster than Eighth of the Eve had anticipated. He leapt to the side - narrowly ducking a sword tumbling through the air - and lashed out with the piece of rubble anchored to his wrist.

The weighted line swung with all the force of a hammer, arcing through the air to crash against the creature's legs. The sound of fracturing bone reached Eighth, and nearby, a still-standing constable arched with pain, collapsing to the ground.

But Eighth's goal was not to harm. No soldier could wound these creatures. And he was no soldier.

He was a trapper.

The Greeneye's legs now adhered to the lightline spooled about the piece of wood. As surely as spidersilk, the glowing cords caught at the abomination's clothes and skin, holding fast.

Eighth whipped a few coils of line about it's ankles, then tore off his bracelet, fast enough to abrade the skin from his wrist. No time to unlatch it. He tossed the device one-handed, up and over the ceiling rafters. The cord pulled taught, the device just out of reach.

And Eighth of the Eve leapt, stomping down on his grounded blade for a little more lift. He reached, straining his arm upwards...

And caught the bracelet.

Eighth released his weightloss. He felt himself settle more heavily, his full ten stone or so now pulling him to the floor. His fingers strained around metal disk, but he hung on.

The Soulless's legs flew straight into the air, attached soundly to Eighth's tether. As sure as any noose, it hailed the creature upwards, like a preybeast, ripe for the slaughter.

And then the demon stopped, chest still on the floor.

Eighth's eyes narrowed, then widened with realization. Of course the bloated, heavyset creature outweighed him. It has been an officer, once, and muscle weighed heavier than mere flesh. But that wasn't all.

Eighth flung his fingers wide,  his glove flaring with light. The quicksilver ran fluidly form the Greeneye's mouth, and Eighth heard it sputter and cough. Quickly now. He curled his fingers. The solvent silver flowed across the floor, pooling where the tip of Eighth's foot just grazed the ground. It reached the toe of his sandal, and flowed up, along the length of his body.

Immediately, Eighth fell heavily to the floor. The creature was hoisted high, its head dangling a good few cubits from the floor. Its throat was clearing, however. The cough was subsiding, the creature drawing ragged breaths.

Eighth shoved his hand through the bracelet - more skin tore - and slapped his wrist against the floor. The line anchored securely to the floorboards. Eighth hesitated, then spooled a few lines across the board, securing it from rupturing.

That done, he turned. And found the demon's eyes facing him, mouth opened wide to attack.

Eighth threw his hand forward. The quicksilver flew between them, though the Soulless had a hand upraised to block entry. But that was not Eighth's plan.

The liquid metal struck, heavier by far than water, and swung the demon back, legs still tethered firmly to the ceiling. Toxic fumes began to billow from its mouth. Eighth lunged, opening himself to his weightloss, and fairly flew across the floor.

Seizing the Greeneye's head by the hair, he levered it up, such that his chin pointed straight at the ground. And drove it - and its deadly mouth - directly into the wall.

Right where he had carved an opening.

A massive blow clouted him across the hip. Eighth found himself airborne, the world spinning about him. Panicking, he reached up, slapping his wrist against the nearest surface he could find. His arm wrenched painfully, and then everything slowed about him.

Eighth opened his eyes blearily. He hung, swinging gently by his arm, from the ceiling. His left hip smarted, but the angle had been awkward. He could move his legs just fine.

He raised his head.

The Soulless dangled before him, arms thrashing furiously. Its legs dangled from the roof, trussed securely together. Its torso arched precariously, neck straining under its weight.

And its head was only barely visible, its face wedged into the hole Eighth had opened in the wall.

Eighth watched it set a hand against the wall, saw the elbow tremble with strain. But the angle was awkward. Worse, the flesh just above the creature's neck was pressed firmly against a looped lightline surrounding the trap.

Eighth tapped his palm, dismissing his own lightline. He fell from the roof, landing lightly on his feet. Or, at least trying to. His hip flared with pain, and his left leg buckled, sending him to one knee. Eighth grimaced, but rose to his feet.

He lunged for one flailing arm, attaching another lightline to it, and, pulling it taught, anchored the line against the floor. He secured the floorboards - just in case - and repeated the process the other arm. Then he stepped back.

The Soulless hung before him, every limb splayed wide, face pressed harmlessly away. A few constables looked on in disbelief. One, sprawled across the floor, laughed weakly.

Another raised a sword.

"No!" Eighth slapped the man's wrist sharply sway. The weapon fell, striking the floor with a clang. "We cannot kill it," Eighth said, words tumbling from his mouth. Loud. Loud enough for all to hear. "It heals. Besides. Sever an limb, and you have freed it from its trap. Sever it's head, and imagine if that healed."

Eighth held the man's gaze firmly until the rage receded. Not completely, but enough for him to nod reluctantly.

Eighth relaxed.

The floor shook suddenly, sending them all to their knees. Eighth threw up his hand against a blinding cloud of dust and debris. Hacking and wheezing, he stumbled to his feet.

An enormous hole suddenly gapes through the floor on the far side of the room. Eighth searched wildly, but the cloaked man was far away. In fact, he seemed just as dumbfounded as anyone else.

The Yelloweye was gone. Eighth searched frantically, even checking the ceiling rafters, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. Eighth paused, and his eyes drifted back to the hole.

Who...who had done that?

A booming voice suddenly filled the air.

The first time that voice had spoken.

That voice...

That voice was a scream of rage. A cry of agony. A sob of terror. A thunder of fury. A rally of courage.

It was pain and death and broken bone and spilt blood and all things primal and old. It was the tide of battle, flinging men against each other.

"This will be fun, tiny one."

Eighth whirled to see the creature shake constables from its enormous body, thundering forth against its opponent.

A young woman, tiny and frail. And a flash of colored feathers.

No.

Eighth lunged forward, only to find himself hauled back. The tear-stricken officer, hand on his shoulder.

"Are you mad?" he shouted. He shook Eighth wildly. "Do you even have a plan?"

Eighth stood, eyes wide, breath heaving in and out of him. Not her. Not them!

The officer shook him again. "You did this!" he shouted, waving at the Greeneye. He gestured to his comrades. "Tell us what to do! We'll listen! Just keep your rusting head!"

Eighth ground his teeth, then relaxed his stance. The officer released him, backing away.

Fine.

"You and you!" Eighth called, pointing to two officers. One held a small thunderhand, the other a heavy sword. "Stay here, and do not let it escape." He gestured at the others, then paused. Only three...but better than just me. "All of you," he said. "Protect the girl! She is our only chance at surviving!"

He felt a slight pang at the lie. But he would not lose her. Besides...

His eyes widened. It might actually be true.

"With me!" Eighth roared. Snatching up his blade, he turned, quicksilver streaming at his feet. And ran for his life.

Quote

So, I did more than a bit of godmodding here. However, I left room for Pestilence to break free. It may have the strength of Asylum's other creations, and Eighth wasn't able to secure it as tightly as he would have liked. Plus, maybe it oozes poison or acid from its pores or something. Who knows (trick question).

@Lunamor however you wish to handle the incoming help is fine by me. If you would prefer to solo War, maybe it just swats Eighth and his little group into the nearest wall. If not, they can arrive at the end of your next post, or whenever you'd prefer. Whatever you choose, feel free to have them do whatever you want for that post. Including Eighth. Whatever feels authentic.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Edited September 30, 2024 by Longshot97
Italics and grammar

[Steel Speedster ♂]

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

Pestilence.

Pestilence grabbed hold of a fallen sword, just in time. He wasn’t used to using anything other than his own abilities, but this would have to do. 
 

Suddenly, he was pulled back by the metal in his head. This briefly freed his mouth, allowing him to utter a surprised yelp as he was pulled back, his sword returning to the floor.

Famine.

Famine watched as his assailant ride into the air at speeds normal mortals couldn’t. He wasn’t used to having to dodge things, so he didn’t. What was the worst that could happen? He was nearly immortal with the amount of energy he had absorbed. 
 

He and the woman crashed through the floor, falling into a basement area. The basement seemed to be a storage room, with a variety of spare supplies strewn about, including spare chairs, papers, and various other desk supplies. As Famine hit the floor, he heard most of his chest bones breaking. They began to heal, but the crushing weight on him kept some from healing. He felt his remaining regeneration begin to whittle away. “Get off, woman!” He reached his hands to her, in an attempt to stop her. With horror, he realized that his hands weren’t responding to him. Aw, great.

Fenna could barely move under her own weight, but she didn't dare release her ironmind, lest the creature push her off. Despite how full they had been, her metalminds were running out at an alarming rate. This was weeks' worth of storing, crammed into seconds.

The monster seemed unable to move its arms. Was its healing ability running out?

Fenna reached out a heavy hand and seized a piece of rubble from the floor beside her and raised it above her head.

She slammed the rock down onto the creature's neck, putting all her immense weight into the blow.

Without waiting to see if the blow had finished the creature off, Fenna released her ironminds and her pewter flare and leapt to her feet. She stored weight and jumped back up through the hole in the ceiling.

Back on the main floor, she found that the second creature had been trapped and subdued. A flicker of hope lit up in Fenna. Maybe we can win after all.

However, the sight of the rest of the room quickly snuffed it out. The floor was strewn with dead constables. The largest monster was still wreaking havoc. And he was there.

The man with spikes in his eyes stood unfazed by the destruction, the most terrifying of all the monsters.

For a moment, a last spark of defiance came alight inside Fenna. Not hope--only defiance. She wanted to keep fighting. To destroy this last, greatest enemy. She clenched her fists and flared her pewter.

But it was almost gone. Maybe she still had enough metal for one last fight, but it would truly be her last fight. Without pewter, her injuries would take only minutes to kill her, and there wouldn't be time to find more.

There was one last vial of metal in her apartment. If she could get to it, she would be able to survive until her injuries healed on a low burn.

She would either die a hero or live a coward and a traitor.

The dead lay around her. They had fought and died, knowing it was likely hopeless. But they had fought, nonetheless.

They knew there was no escape. If they could have, they would have fled.

But she could never know that for sure. And it didn't change anything about the choice before her.

Fenna stared into the glinting spike heads, and felt the last of her defiance die out.

She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to die. Not ready to make that decision.

And so, she ran.

Quote

This will be Fenna's exit for this episode. It's been fun, and I'll see you in the epilogues and era 8!

 

[Lunamor she/her]

9 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

"This will be fun, tiny one."
He really did mean it. The raw rage seeping through her fueled him. Some of it was his doing, admittedly. But a lot of it came from her. 
 

Spikes, silverware, and metal shards began popping off from his body. His clothes were even more tattered, but the physical wounds healed. Such rage…

With a gleeful bound, he moved to smash the tiny girl. Though he fed off of active rage, an angry death fueled him more. He hesitated. Wasn’t this someone they were told not to hurt? He glanced over to the boss, who was busy with someone else. Well, she did attack first, so it’s not his fault for fighting back. 
 

He wound up a massive punch, aiming it at the girl’s chest. His arm was nearly as big as she was.

 

 

8 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

A booming voice suddenly filled the air.

The first time that voice had spoken.

That voice...

That voice was a scream of rage. A cry of agony. A sob of terror. A thunder of fury. A rally of courage.

It was pain and death and broken bone and spilt blood and all things primal and old. It was the tide of battle, flinging men against each other.

"This will be fun, tiny one."

Eighth whirled to see the creature shake constables from its enormous body, thundering forth against its opponent.

A young woman, tiny and frail. And a flash of colored feathers.

No.

Eighth lunged forward, only to find himself hauled back. The tear-stricken officer, hand on his shoulder.

"Are you mad?" he shouted. He shook Eighth wildly. "Do you even have a plan?"

Eighth stood, eyes wide, breath heaving in and out of him. Not her. Not them!

The officer shook him again. "You did this!" he shouted, waving at the Greeneye. He gestured to his comrades. "Tell us what to do! We'll listen! Just keep your rusting head!"

Eighth ground his teeth, then relaxed his stance. The officer released him, backing away.

Fine.

"You and you!" Eighth called, pointing to two officers. One held a small thunderhand, the other a heavy sword. "Stay here, and do not let it escape." He gestured at the others, then paused. Only three...but better than just me. "All of you," he said. "Protect the girl! She is our only chance at surviving!"

He felt a slight pang at the lie. But he would not lose her. Besides...

His eyes widened. It might actually be true.

"With me!" Eighth roared. Snatching up his blade, he turned, quicksilver streaming at his feet. And ran for his life.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Eza sprinted directly into the path of the oncoming fist, continuing to keep her iron on a low burn. That annoying bird squawked loudly into her ear and dug its talons into her shoulder. One of the blue lines extending from her chest to something she couldn't make out seemed to glow. She pulled on it without thinking, and whatever bit of metal that line pointed to had been implanted solidly enough into the wall to yank her to the side.

The monster's fist missed her by inches. Two more lines were highlighted, one in front of her and one to the side, so she pulled on both of them at once. This pulled her diagonally to behind the beast. Eza grinned maliciously, then pointed her dagger outwards and yanked on one final thick line- one of her own choosing, this time. As she was sent rocketing across the floor, her knife slashed through one of the Achilles tendons of the monster.

Another blue line was highlighted, but before she could switch to pulling on it, she came to a sudden stop.

...

With a surprised grunt, War fell to one knee. It immediately shot a grasping hand outwards in retaliation. It wrapped around Eza's midsection and stopped her midair, the force of her ironpull nothing against its iron grip. War held the girl up in front of itself. The tiny thing was a better fighter than it'd anticipated.

"That really hurt!"

Eza responded by spitting in its face. War almost decided to tighten its grip and squish the girl, but then noticed the man shouting commands at the remaining constables. He looked around the room and saw that everyone other than those four survivors had died or were injured enough they might as well be dead. He looked over at his new boss, who'd told him not to kill this tiny thing. He looked back at Eza, who proceeded to bite his hand.

People were most likely about to try to kill him. He was out of most sources of anger. He probably wasn't supposed to murder Eza. And she was very, very angry. The girl would make a good battery. Her death would give him a stronger temporary boost, but he needed a lasting source of fury. So he continued to hold her immobilized in place, turning to face the incoming attackers as he managed to awkwardly stand while his heel knit back together. He roughly shook the girl around a bit to make sure she stayed mad.

Quote

It's nearly impossible for Eza to solo War I'd say she's a glass cannon, but she's not really a cannon in the first place. Right now she reminds me of a really angry chihuahua.

@Koloss17 @Longshot97

Edited October 1, 2024 by Lunamor
Grammar

[Longshot97 he/him]

Quote

I have a response, it will be a little while before I can draft it fully. In the meantime @Koloss17 if there's anything you want to add on top of this, please do so.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

23 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

The Greeneye flew across the room, dragged by his head, faster than Eighth of the Eve had anticipated. He leapt to the side - narrowly ducking a sword tumbling through the air - and lashed out with the piece of rubble anchored to his wrist.

The weighted line swung with all the force of a hammer, arcing through the air to crash against the creature's legs. The sound of fracturing bone reached Eighth, and nearby, a still-standing constable arched with pain, collapsing to the ground.

But Eighth's goal was not to harm. No soldier could wound these creatures. And he was no soldier.

He was a trapper.

The Greeneye's legs now adhered to the lightline spooled about the piece of wood. As surely as spidersilk, the glowing cords caught at the abomination's clothes and skin, holding fast.

Eighth whipped a few coils of line about it's ankles, then tore off his bracelet, fast enough to abrade the skin from his wrist. No time to unlatch it. He tossed the device one-handed, up and over the ceiling rafters. The cord pulled taught, the device just out of reach.

And Eighth of the Eve leapt, stomping down on his grounded blade for a little more lift. He reached, straining his arm upwards...

And caught the bracelet.

Eighth released his weightloss. He felt himself settle more heavily, his full ten stone or so now pulling him to the floor. His fingers strained around metal disk, but he hung on.

The Soulless's legs flew straight into the air, attached soundly to Eighth's tether. As sure as any noose, it hailed the creature upwards, like a preybeast, ripe for the slaughter.

And then the demon stopped, chest still on the floor.

Eighth's eyes narrowed, then widened with realization. Of course the bloated, heavyset creature outweighed him. It has been an officer, once, and muscle weighed heavier than mere flesh. But that wasn't all.

Eighth flung his fingers wide,  his glove flaring with light. The quicksilver ran fluidly form the Greeneye's mouth, and Eighth heard it sputter and cough. Quickly now. He curled his fingers. The solvent silver flowed across the floor, pooling where the tip of Eighth's foot just grazed the ground. It reached the toe of his sandal, and flowed up, along the length of his body.

Immediately, Eighth fell heavily to the floor. The creature was hoisted high, its head dangling a good few cubits from the floor. Its throat was clearing, however. The cough was subsiding, the creature drawing ragged breaths.

Eighth shoved his hand through the bracelet - more skin tore - and slapped his wrist against the floor. The line anchored securely to the floorboards. Eighth hesitated, then spooled a few lines across the board, securing it from rupturing.

That done, he turned. And found the demon's eyes facing him, mouth opened wide to attack.

Eighth threw his hand forward. The quicksilver flew between them, though the Soulless had a hand upraised to block entry. But that was not Eighth's plan.

The liquid metal struck, heavier by far than water, and swung the demon back, legs still tethered firmly to the ceiling. Toxic fumes began to billow from its mouth. Eighth lunged, opening himself to his weightloss, and fairly flew across the floor.

Seizing the Greeneye's head by the hair, he levered it up, such that his chin pointed straight at the ground. And drove it - and its deadly mouth - directly into the wall.

Right where he had carved an opening.

A massive blow clouted him across the hip. Eighth found himself airborne, the world spinning about him. Panicking, he reached up, slapping his wrist against the nearest surface he could find. His arm wrenched painfully, and then everything slowed about him.

Eighth opened his eyes blearily. He hung, swinging gently by his arm, from the ceiling. His left hip smarted, but the angle had been awkward. He could move his legs just fine.

He raised his head.

The Soulless dangled before him, arms thrashing furiously. Its legs dangled from the roof, trussed securely together. Its torso arched precariously, neck straining under its weight.

And its head was only barely visible, its face wedged into the hole Eighth had opened in the wall.

Eighth watched it set a hand against the wall, saw the elbow tremble with strain. But the angle was awkward. Worse, the flesh just above the creature's neck was pressed firmly against a looped lightline surrounding the trap.

Eighth tapped his palm, dismissing his own lightline. He fell from the roof, landing lightly on his feet. Or, at least trying to. His hip flared with pain, and his left leg buckled, sending him to one knee. Eighth grimaced, but rose to his feet.

He lunged for one flailing arm, attaching another lightline to it, and, pulling it taught, anchored the line against the floor. He secured the floorboards - just in case - and repeated the process the other arm. Then he stepped back.

The Soulless hung before him, every limb splayed wide, face pressed harmlessly away. A few constables looked on in disbelief. One, sprawled across the floor, laughed weakly.

Another raised a sword.

"No!" Eighth slapped the man's wrist sharply sway. The weapon fell, striking the floor with a clang. "We cannot kill it," Eighth said, words tumbling from his mouth. Loud. Loud enough for all to hear. "It heals. Besides. Sever an limb, and you have freed it from its trap. Sever it's head, and imagine if that healed."

Eighth held the man's gaze firmly until the rage receded. Not completely, but enough for him to nod reluctantly.

Eighth relaxed.

The floor shook suddenly, sending them all to their knees. Eighth threw up his hand against a blinding cloud of dust and debris. Hacking and wheezing, he stumbled to his feet.

An enormous hole suddenly gapes through the floor on the far side of the room. Eighth searched wildly, but the cloaked man was far away. In fact, he seemed just as dumbfounded as anyone else.

The Yelloweye was gone. Eighth searched frantically, even checking the ceiling rafters, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. Eighth paused, and his eyes drifted back to the hole.

Who...who had done that?

 

Pestilence.

He was well and thoroughly humiliated. Trapped in a wall, with no easy escape. Not even able to yell at the mortal that did this. There are drawbacks to a physical body, he realized.

Light abruptly poured in as a piece of metal flew away, freeing his head slightly to the side. It wasn’t big enough to use, but he could yell through it. Better than nothing, he supposed.

”Hey! Come back here and untie me! I promise it’s worth it.”

An unconvincing plea escaped his mouth. “I know a good cookie recipe…”

21 hours ago, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Fenna could barely move under her own weight, but she didn't dare release her ironmind, lest the creature push her off. Despite how full they had been, her metalminds were running out at an alarming rate. This was weeks' worth of storing, crammed into seconds.

The monster seemed unable to move its arms. Was its healing ability running out?

Fenna reached out a heavy hand and seized a piece of rubble from the floor beside her and raised it above her head.

She slammed the rock down onto the creature's neck, putting all her immense weight into the blow.

Without waiting to see if the blow had finished the creature off, Fenna released her ironminds and her pewter flare and leapt to her feet. She stored weight and jumped back up through the hole in the ceiling.

 

Famine.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Famine’s body repaired itself. He was running out of juice, and he was running out fast. His legs snapped back into place, with his chest reinflating. Some bones were still broken though as he ran out of regeneration. Dang it! 
 

He shakily got to his feet. He was glad he still had control of the body though.  He didn’t know what it would take to de-possess it, but now was the most vulnerable he had been in it. He had to get more energy somehow. He had to be sneaky.

Quote

The horsemen are down, but not out. Close to it, but not quite. Of course war is still fine tho  

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 9/30/2024 at 4:59 PM, Lunamor said:

Eza sprinted directly into the path of the oncoming fist, continuing to keep her iron on a low burn. That annoying bird squawked loudly into her ear and dug its talons into her shoulder. One of the blue lines extending from her chest to something she couldn't make out seemed to glow. She pulled on it without thinking, and whatever bit of metal that line pointed to had been implanted solidly enough into the wall to yank her to the side.

The monster's fist missed her by inches. Two more lines were highlighted, one in front of her and one to the side, so she pulled on both of them at once. This pulled her diagonally to behind the beast. Eza grinned maliciously, then pointed her dagger outwards and yanked on one final thick line- one of her own choosing, this time. As she was sent rocketing across the floor, her knife slashed through one of the Achilles tendons of the monster.

Another blue line was highlighted, but before she could switch to pulling on it, she came to a sudden stop.

...

With a surprised grunt, War fell to one knee. It immediately shot a grasping hand outwards in retaliation. It wrapped around Eza's midsection and stopped her midair, the force of her ironpull nothing against its iron grip. War held the girl up in front of itself. The tiny thing was a better fighter than it'd anticipated.

"That really hurt!"

Eza responded by spitting in its face. War almost decided to tighten its grip and squish the girl, but then noticed the man shouting commands at the remaining constables. He looked around the room and saw that everyone other than those four survivors had died or were injured enough they might as well be dead. He looked over at his new boss, who'd told him not to kill this tiny thing. He looked back at Eza, who proceeded to bite his hand.

People were most likely about to try to kill him. He was out of most sources of anger. He probably wasn't supposed to murder Eza. And she was very, very angry. The girl would make a good battery. Her death would give him a stronger temporary boost, but he needed a lasting source of fury. So he continued to hold her immobilized in place, turning to face the incoming attackers as he managed to awkwardly stand while his heel knit back together. He roughly shook the girl around a bit to make sure she stayed mad.

@Koloss17 @Longshot97

Eighth of the Eve pounded forth on too-light feet.

His small army followed closely behind him. The remaining constables, strewn bloody and broken across the floor, could only watch. A few tried to get to their feet, only to fall once more. But Eighth barely spared a thought for them.

The Redeye held his focus.

The creature now held Eza aloft, like a child holding a ragdoll. She had fought viciously, it seemed. The creature was only just staggering to its feet, and blood trickled down its arm. Its eyes burned with fury, and it shook Eza, like a hunter snapping a quarry's neck.

A cold, quiet focus settled on Eighth. No time for panic, and no time for fury. The officer was right. They needed a plan to survive. Eza was depending on them.

"Stand back and shoot!" Eighth shouted. "Hurt the creature, but avoid myself and the girl!" He paused. "And the Aviar!"

Two of the officers fell back. One hefted a thunderhand large enough to boggle the mind. An enormous hunk of oddly shaped metal, which the officer began ratcheting menacingly. The other brandished a smaller, sleeker weapon. Many more lay strewn across his person, belted in place.

Yet the tear-stricken officer stopped too, tossing away his sword and snatching something from the ground. Eighth was past him in a second. What? Was that...was that a beltpouch?

And Eighth was within the towering creature's reach.

An enormous fist descended, splitting the air itself. Eighth hurled himself to the left, nearly gliding across the floor. He slashed at the bloody leg, but the creature stepped easily aside.

The first came arcing back, faster than Eighth had expected. He threw himself back. Too slow. The blow rushed towards his unprotected head.  He would-

Harsh, resounding cracks filled the air. The creature staggered, spouts of blood blossoming from its shoulder. The arm fell limply to its side, and the Soulless turned on the officers with a roar of pain.

The officer held a weapon in each hand, smoke wafting gently to the ceiling. Even now, he dropped his weapons carelessly to the floor, withdrawing a fresh set from his belts.

The Redeye growled, stepping towards the officer. Then thunder filled the air, and a full section of the creature's hip exploded into red mist. It fell to one knee, bracing itself on its now-healed arm. The free hand landing hard enough to actually penetrate the floor.

The second constable grimly worked his weapon, hefting the mass of metal casually in one hand. Bits of metal clattered to the floor beneath his busy fingers.

The Soulless rumbled. The floor splintered under his grip, and the creature tore up a section of the flooring, as easily as Eighth might a hunk from a loaf of bread. It raised its hand, poised to hurl the missile at the officer.

Without warning, chunks of flesh were ripped from the monster's hand and arm. A finger sailed past Eighth, and the would-be-projectile clattered to the floor amid blood and bone.

The tear-stricken officer stood, leather pouch in one hand, the other flung before him, as though having thrown something. Eighth blinked. How on Patji - no. No time for that.

Even now, the creature's wounds were sealed shut, and it began laboriously assuming its feet. Effective though the constables were proving, they were vulnerable. Dangerously so. Eighth had seen similar marksmen torn to shreds by the rampaging Redeye. He had to do something.

Eighth of the Eve dove. But not for the Soulless.

For its free hand, mangled and bloody at its side.

Eighth slapped his wrist against the creature's hand. He continued his dive, landing clumsily into a roll. Halfway through, his back convulsed, and he buckled, tumbling heavily across the floor.

Eighth slapped his wrist against the wall, then tapped his palm, backpedaling furiously. A lightline now stretched from the creature's fist, anchored to the wall. But not just the wall. A loadbearing beam, visible even through the plaster, bore the glowing cord. Eighth's eyes tightened in satisfaction, and he staggered painfully to one knee. Let us see you break that.

Thunder filled the air once more, and chunks of flesh flew from the Soulless's body. One hand was now anchored soundly, and the constables smartly arranged themselves out of the creature's reach. The Redeye retained its footing, however, and still held Eza firmly in one hand.

Lurching to his feet, Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully on the creature's unleashed hand. His grip centered on the forearm. Any closer, and he risked striking Eza instead. Without shifting his gaze, he whistled, high and sharp. Two ascending notes.

Attack.

Seiju leapt from Eza's shoulder, fluttering clumsily into the Soulless's face. Feathers flew and blood rose as she pecked and clawed and gouged at the creature's eyes.

Eighth pulled the trigger, and a single dart flew, lodging itself in the inner tendons leading to the fingers. Releasing the trigger, Eighth crouched low to the floor, ready to run for his life. His, and Eza's.

Quote

Whatever good opinion Eza gained towards birds in the course of this episode...might vanish in the face of this bloodthirsty avian attack. Eh. Small price to pay.

To elaborate on Eighth's plan, he's rendered War's free hand useless (at least temporarily). Now, if War wants to get Seiju out of his face (as any sane person would in the face of unrequited avian assault), he'll need a free hand to do so. It is Eighth's hope that he will drop Eza in the process. That is when he plans to rush in, to either pull he out himself or buy her time to back off. To this end @Koloss17 feel free to godmod Seiju however realistically necessary to your post.

As for his plan to deal with War in the long term, well...some mysterious donor generously left a gaping crater in the floor. 

Oh, and I tried to have fun with this. Of the Metalborn that Phemus listed in a previous post, I made it that only the Pewterarm, the Sparker, and one Coinshot are still in fighting form. It seemed that they would be the most likely to last this long. So the Sparker is the precision shooter, the Pewterarm has the big gun, and the Coinshot...is trying his best.

Also, I've been building up the Chekhov's Gun of all the injuries Eighth has been accumulating. It's kind of a miracle he's still standing. So please, feel free to deal out a little more hurt . It's all according to plan.

Speaking of.which, when did the hunter-gatherer become the party tank? (This is a joke)

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Edited October 4, 2024 by Longshot97
Grammar. Also, why does War get autocorrected to Ear ;-;

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 10/1/2024 at 8:24 PM, Longshot97 said:

 

And Eighth was within the towering creature's reach.

An enormous fist descended, splitting the air itself. Eighth hurled himself to the left, nearly gliding across the floor. He slashed at the bloody leg, but the creature stepped easily aside.

The first came arcing back, faster than Eighth had expected. He threw himself back. Too slow. The blow rushed towards his unprotected head.  He would-

Harsh, resounding cracks filled the air. The creature staggered, spouts of blood blossoming from its shoulder. The arm fell limply to its side, and the Soulless turned on the officers with a roar of pain.

The officer held a weapon in each hand, smoke wafting gently to the ceiling. Even now, he dropped his weapons carelessly to the floor, withdrawing a fresh set from his belts.

The Redeye growled, stepping towards the officer. Then thunder filled the air, and a full section of the creature's hip exploded into red mist. It fell to one knee, bracing itself on its now-healed arm. The free hand landing hard enough to actually penetrate the floor.

The second constable grimly worked his weapon, hefting the mass of metal casually in one hand. Bits of metal clattered to the floor beneath his busy fingers.

The Soulless rumbled. The floor splintered under his grip, and the creature tore up a section of the flooring, as easily as Eighth might a hunk from a loaf of bread. It raised its hand, poised to hurl the missile at the officer.

Without warning, chunks of flesh were ripped from the monster's hand and arm. A finger sailed past Eighth, and the would-be-projectile clattered to the floor amid blood and bone.

The tear-stricken officer stood, leather pouch in one hand, the other flung before him, as though having thrown something. Eighth blinked. How on Patji - no. No time for that.

Even now, the creature's wounds were sealed shut, and it began laboriously assuming its feet. Effective though the constables were proving, they were vulnerable. Dangerously so. Eighth had seen similar marksmen torn to shreds by the rampaging Redeye. He had to do something.

Eighth of the Eve dove. But not for the Soulless.

For its free hand, mangled and bloody at its side.

Eighth slapped his wrist against the creature's hand. He continued his dive, landing clumsily into a roll. Halfway through, his back convulsed, and he buckled, tumbling heavily across the floor.

Eighth slapped his wrist against the wall, then tapped his palm, backpedaling furiously. A lightline now stretched from the creature's fist, anchored to the wall. But not just the wall. A loadbearing beam, visible even through the plaster, bore the glowing cord. Eighth's eyes tightened in satisfaction, and he staggered painfully to one knee. Let us see you break that.

Thunder filled the air once more, and chunks of flesh flew from the Soulless's body. One hand was now anchored soundly, and the constables smartly arranged themselves out of the creature's reach. The Redeye retained its footing, however, and still held Eza firmly in one hand.

Lurching to his feet, Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully on the creature's unleashed hand. His grip centered on the forearm. Any closer, and he risked striking Eza instead. Without shifting his gaze, he whistled, high and sharp. Two ascending notes.

Attack.

Seiju leapt from Eza's shoulder, fluttering clumsily into the Soulless's face. Feathers flew and blood rose as she pecked and clawed and gouged at the creature's eyes.

Eighth pulled the trigger, and a single dart flew, lodging itself in the inner tendons leading to the fingers. Releasing the trigger, Eighth crouched low to the floor, ready to run for his life. His, and Eza's.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

War.

War was not having a good time anymore. These blasted mortals were becoming worrisome. He had just gotten this body. He was not going to lose it!

He let go of the girl, vigorously flinging her across the room. He slapped at the blasted bird away, the injuries healing. Slower than he would like. Not enough anger. For the he couldn’t remember how many-th time, he wished he could get more power from his own anger.

“I am going to clobber you!”
War grabbed a nearby body with his working hand and threw it at the alive ones.

Quote

War, unsurprisingly, is throwing a bit of a tantrum. However, a tantrum from someone that can flatten people is quite a dangerous tantrum.

@Lunamor

Edited October 3, 2024 by Koloss17

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 10/3/2024 at 4:00 PM, Koloss17 said:

War.

War was not having a good time anymore. These blasted mortals were becoming worrisome. He had just gotten this body. He was not going to lose it!

He let go of the girl, vigorously flinging her across the room. He slapped at the blasted bird away, the injuries healing. Slower than he would like. Not enough anger. For the he couldn’t remember how many-th time, he wished he could get more power from his own anger.

“I am going to clobber you!”
War grabbed a nearby body with his working hand and threw it at the alive ones.

Eighth watched both his friends tumble through the air.

Eza's eyes were wide, alight with anger. Her limbs flailed furiously about her, even as she spared across the room.

Even from where he stood, Eighth heard the snap of Seiju's wing as clear as day. The limb took the brunt of the force - thank the Father - but he would have sworn he saw her delicate torso deform around the Soulless's hand. Her little eyes rolled up into her head, and she spiraled gracelessly towards the ground.

He froze only a moment before racing after Seiju. Only one of them was conscious. Besides, what would I do? Catch a young woman out of the air?

Even in this he was too slow. He was forced to dive, stretching his body to full extension, just to get his hands under his old friend. Eighth snatched his arms in, curling his body around the Aviar, and closed his eyes.

An enormous blow seemed to land across his shoulders. Desperately, Eighth went rigid, holding a tiny pocket of space up around the limp bird. His back took the brunt of the next impact, and then the world was a blur of color and agony and tangled limbs.

He eventually came to a stop hunched on his side. Slowly, painstakingly, he unfolded himself, rolling to his back and letting his limbs flop down.

Every bit of him was screaming pain and fiery burns. He simply lay there, on hand over Seiju, still and silent on his chest. With an effort, he proved his fingers along her torso. No breaks, no swelling. She will live. Patji be praised, she will live.

For the first time in what seemed forever, Eighth of the Eve simply relaxed.

Then a loud, grinding roar hit him, and his eyes snapped painfully open.

“I am going to clobber you!”

The Redeye.

A corpse flew across the room, directly over Eighth's head. For a split second, those unseeing eyes seemed to meet Eighth's, boring into his very soul as only a dead man's gaze could. Then it was gone, and a bodily thump reached him, followed by a cry and a sickening crunch.

Eighth moved to rise, but his arms refused his commands, his torso barely shifting. His head lolled, and he saw the many-weaponed officer knocked off his feet, weapons falling from his hands. The limp body drove into his sternum, blowing him back into the wall. A cloud of pulverized plaster billowed from the impact.

Eighth rolled himself to his chest, brushing Seiju gently to the floor. His legs braced, his arms strained, and slowly, painfully, he lifted himself from the floor.

The obscuring dust finally parted, and Eighth froze.

The constable lay embedded sideways within the wall, back arched unnaturally. The deep brown of a loadbearing beam was visible above his abdomen, and blood dripped from exposed ribs. His chest did not rise. His eyes stared sightless into Eighth's.

No.

He pushed himself shakily to one knee. A shout reached reached him, and he twisted, just in time to see the large-weaponed officer lose his weapon, the fingers of his right hand snapping audibly with a spray of blood. The weapon hit the floor with the outflung corpse.

Eighth staggered to his feet, mouth opened to shout a warning. But a grunt reached him, and another body slammed into the officer's ribcage. The corpse deformed around the constable, breaking before his body, but the force threw him from his feet. The constable was driven to the ground. One arm hit the ground trapped between body and floor, and the arm held for just a moment before rupturing messily at the elbow. The man's head flew back, snapping down onto his own weapon.

Thunder split the air, and the entire right side of the constable's abdomen was vaporized. His scream filled the air.

No!

The Redeye now strained at the end of its tether to snatch a corpse's foot. Straightening, it whirled the body about its head like a grotesque sling, eyes unerringly seeking out the tear-stricken officer. The constable flung his hand out before him, and light flashed briefly as spouts of blood flew from the Soulless's massive chest. It merely laughed.

Somebody's family stood there. Someone's lover, perhaps. A son certainly stood there, in the shadow of an abomination. A brother, or perhaps an uncle. 

Someone's cousin, perhaps. Or someone's husband.

"No!" Eighth felt something in his throat tear apart. He stumbled forward on unsteady legs. Sickening despair turned his stomach, seething and frothing into boiling rage. "No more!" Slick, coppery blood coated the back of his tongue. His stumbling gait sped up to a shambling sprint.

Eighth kicked a piece of rubble into the air, slapping his wrist against it. He spun, light on his feet, spooling a line of light out before him, then tapped his palm, halting the cord's extension. The makeshift bludgeon swung with him at knee level, circling ever faster, building speed. With a bloody scream, Eighth dug his heels into the floor, arresting his movement and flinging his arm wide.

The chunk of wood circled one last time, uncoiling on its line with tremendous force before flying forward. It sailed past the Redeye's legs, the lightline striking and sticking at its shins. The weight pulled suddenly taut, blurring forward in a circle about the Soulless's legs. Eighth threw his other hand high, and a solid stream of quicksilver flew at the creature's chest.

Eighth dropped low to one hand, setting his heels firmly to the planks below. He released his weightloss, gritted his teeth, and heaved on the line with all his might.

Quote

I cannot help but feel slightly guilty over what feels like excessive godmodding. If this is so @Koloss17, please let me know. I have an alternative version of this text that would advance more slowly, but leave complete player agency.

In any case, I believe now is an appropriate time to disclose Eighth's plan. Or, what little of it he has.

1. Keep the monster occupied long enough to bind it in place. Partially successful. War's arm was tethered to the wall, if you recall.

2. Keep it distracted. Succeeded, then failed. The Sparker is dead, the Pewterarm isn't getting up anytime soon, though the Coinshot is still active.

3. Bring it down to the ground. Halfway successful. Eighth has a cord in place (He was trying to mimic the effect of a bola). Whether or not he managed to do so effectively, I leave to you @Koloss17. Traditional bolas function by moving with enough force to drive the targets legs together and then bind them. I doubt Eighth managed to go that far, but a cord is in place, meaning that if he can generate enough force, he could pull War's legs out from underneath him. He's also trying to throw enough force via the mercury to destabilize War from the top down.

4. Get it in the hole. Eighth's original plan was to drive it via gunshot onto his mercury, just like with the vampire he and Eza dealt with. He was hoping to have Eza pull War along with some metal he would plant when the time came. That plan...is out the window, and rapidly reaching orbit. Instead, he'll probably have to lure War over manually.

Y'know, if Eighth were thinking straight, he would realize that he just tethered himself to a being that throws around human bodies for fun. He might think twice before offering such a being such a convenient way to grab him. And while angry, no less.

@Lunamor hope there's enough metal to slow Eza's fall. Need at least one non-concussed member in the party :P

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Edited October 4, 2024 by Longshot97

[Koloss17 She/They]

44 minutes ago, Longshot97 said:

Eighth watched both his friends tumble through the air.

Eza's eyes were wide, alight with anger. Her limbs flailed furiously about her, even as she spared across the room.

Even from where he stood, Eighth heard the snap of Seiju's wing as clear as day. The limb took the brunt of the force - thank the Father - but he would have sworn he saw her delicate torso deform around the Soulless's hand. Her little eyes rolled up into her head, and she spiraled gracelessly towards the ground.

He froze only a moment before racing after Seiju. Only one of them was conscious. Besides, what would I do? Catch a young woman out of the air?

Even in this he was too slow. He was forced to dive, stretching his body to full extension, just to get his hands under his old friend. Eighth snatched his arms in, curling his body around the Aviar, and closed his eyes.

An enormous blow seemed to land across his shoulders. Desperately, Eighth went rigid, holding a tiny pocket of space up around the limp bird. His back took the brunt of the next impact, and then the world was a blur of color and agony and tangled limbs.

He eventually came to a stop hunched on his side. Slowly, painstakingly, he unfolded himself, rolling to his back and letting his limbs flop down.

Every bit of him was screaming pain and fiery burns. He simply lay there, on hand over Seiju, still and silent on his chest. With an effort, he proved his fingers along her torso. No breaks, no swelling. She will live. Patji be praised, she will live.

For the first time in what seemed forever, Eighth of the Eve simply relaxed.

Then a loud, grinding roar hit him, and his eyes snapped painfully open.

“I am going to clobber you!”

The Redeye.

A corpse flew across the room, directly over Eighth's head. For a split second, those unseeing eyes seemed to meet Eighth's, boring into his very soul as only a dead man's gaze could. Then it was gone, and a bodily thump reached him, followed by a cry and a sickening crunch.

Eighth moved to rise, but his arms refused his commands, his torso barely shifting. His head lolled, and he saw the many-weaponed officer knocked off his feet, weapons falling from his hands. The limp body drove into his sternum, blowing him back into the wall. A cloud of pulverized plaster billowed from the impact.

Eighth rolled himself to his chest, brushing Seiju gently to the floor. His legs braced, his arms strained, and slowly, painfully, he lifted himself from the floor.

The obscuring dust finally parted, and Eighth froze.

The constable lay embedded sideways within the wall, back arched unnaturally. The deep brown of a loadbearing beam was visible above his abdomen, and blood dripped from exposed ribs. His chest did not rise. His eyes stared sightless into Eighth's.

No.

He pushed himself shakily to one knee. A shout reached reached him, and he twisted, just in time to see the large-weaponed officer lose his weapon, the fingers of his right hand snapping audibly with a spray of blood. The weapon hit the floor with the outflung corpse.

Eighth staggered to his feet, mouth opened to shout a warning. But a grunt reached him, and another body slammed into the officer's ribcage. The corpse deformed around the constable, breaking before his body, but the force threw him from his feet. The constable was driven to the ground. One arm hit the ground trapped between body and floor, and the arm held for just a moment before rupturing messily at the elbow. The man's head flew back, snapping down onto his own weapon.

Thunder split the air, and the entire right side of the constable's abdomen was vaporized. His scream filled the air.

No!

The Redeye now strained at the end of its tether to snatch a corpse's foot. Straightening, it whirled the body about its head like a grotesque sling, eyes unerringly seeking out the tear-stricken officer. The constable flung his hand out before him, and light flashed briefly as spouts of blood flew from the Soulless's massive chest. It merely laughed.

Somebody's family stood there. Someone's lover, perhaps. A son certainly stood there, in the shadow of an abomination. A brother, or perhaps an uncle. 

Someone's cousin, perhaps. Or someone's husband.

"No!" Eighth felt something in his throat tear. He stumbled forth. Sickening despair turned his stomach, seething and frothing into boiling rage. "No more!" Slick, coppery blood coated the back of his tongue. His stumble sped to a shambling sprint.

Eighth kicked a piece of rubble into the air, slapping his wrist against it. He spun, light on his feet, spooling a line of light out before him before tapping his palm, halting the cord's extension. The makeshift bludgeon swung with him at knee level, circling ever faster, building speed. With a bloody scream, Eighth dug his heels into the floor, arresting his movement and flinging his arm wide.

The chunk of wood circled one last time, uncoiling on its line with tremendous force before flying forward. It sailed past the Redeye's legs, the lightline striking and sticking at its shins. The weight pulled suddenly taut, blurring forward in a circle about the Soulless's legs. Eighth threw his other hand high, and a solid stream of quicksilver flew at the creature's chest.

Eighth dropped low to one hand, setting his heels firmly to the planks below. He released his weightloss, gritted his teeth, and heaved with all his might.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Quote

I mean hey, these are NPCs that I neither created nor particularly care about. If it’s any solace, I actually intend all three horsemen to die at the end of this battle. It’s not godmodding if it’s an npc that I explicitly said you are free to control  I mean heck, you can fully control them if you want. I’m just here to help provide help in assisting in y’all’s arcs. Obviously Perses is around, but he’s mostly watching all this unfold. Again, his goal is to send a message, not kill people. That’s what the horsemen are for .

 

[Lunamor she/her]

On 10/3/2024 at 7:29 PM, Longshot97 said:

Eighth watched both his friends tumble through the air.

Eza's eyes were wide, alight with anger. Her limbs flailed furiously about her, even as she spared across the room.

Even from where he stood, Eighth heard the snap of Seiju's wing as clear as day. The limb took the brunt of the force - thank the Father - but he would have sworn he saw her delicate torso deform around the Soulless's hand. Her little eyes rolled up into her head, and she spiraled gracelessly towards the ground.

He froze only a moment before racing after Seiju. Only one of them was conscious. Besides, what would I do? Catch a young woman out of the air?

Even in this he was too slow. He was forced to dive, stretching his body to full extension, just to get his hands under his old friend. Eighth snatched his arms in, curling his body around the Aviar, and closed his eyes.

An enormous blow seemed to land across his shoulders. Desperately, Eighth went rigid, holding a tiny pocket of space up around the limp bird. His back took the brunt of the next impact, and then the world was a blur of color and agony and tangled limbs.

He eventually came to a stop hunched on his side. Slowly, painstakingly, he unfolded himself, rolling to his back and letting his limbs flop down.

Every bit of him was screaming pain and fiery burns. He simply lay there, on hand over Seiju, still and silent on his chest. With an effort, he proved his fingers along her torso. No breaks, no swelling. She will live. Patji be praised, she will live.

For the first time in what seemed forever, Eighth of the Eve simply relaxed.

Then a loud, grinding roar hit him, and his eyes snapped painfully open.

“I am going to clobber you!”

The Redeye.

A corpse flew across the room, directly over Eighth's head. For a split second, those unseeing eyes seemed to meet Eighth's, boring into his very soul as only a dead man's gaze could. Then it was gone, and a bodily thump reached him, followed by a cry and a sickening crunch.

Eighth moved to rise, but his arms refused his commands, his torso barely shifting. His head lolled, and he saw the many-weaponed officer knocked off his feet, weapons falling from his hands. The limp body drove into his sternum, blowing him back into the wall. A cloud of pulverized plaster billowed from the impact.

Eighth rolled himself to his chest, brushing Seiju gently to the floor. His legs braced, his arms strained, and slowly, painfully, he lifted himself from the floor.

The obscuring dust finally parted, and Eighth froze.

The constable lay embedded sideways within the wall, back arched unnaturally. The deep brown of a loadbearing beam was visible above his abdomen, and blood dripped from exposed ribs. His chest did not rise. His eyes stared sightless into Eighth's.

No.

He pushed himself shakily to one knee. A shout reached reached him, and he twisted, just in time to see the large-weaponed officer lose his weapon, the fingers of his right hand snapping audibly with a spray of blood. The weapon hit the floor with the outflung corpse.

Eighth staggered to his feet, mouth opened to shout a warning. But a grunt reached him, and another body slammed into the officer's ribcage. The corpse deformed around the constable, breaking before his body, but the force threw him from his feet. The constable was driven to the ground. One arm hit the ground trapped between body and floor, and the arm held for just a moment before rupturing messily at the elbow. The man's head flew back, snapping down onto his own weapon.

Thunder split the air, and the entire right side of the constable's abdomen was vaporized. His scream filled the air.

No!

The Redeye now strained at the end of its tether to snatch a corpse's foot. Straightening, it whirled the body about its head like a grotesque sling, eyes unerringly seeking out the tear-stricken officer. The constable flung his hand out before him, and light flashed briefly as spouts of blood flew from the Soulless's massive chest. It merely laughed.

Somebody's family stood there. Someone's lover, perhaps. A son certainly stood there, in the shadow of an abomination. A brother, or perhaps an uncle. 

Someone's cousin, perhaps. Or someone's husband.

"No!" Eighth felt something in his throat tear apart. He stumbled forward on unsteady legs. Sickening despair turned his stomach, seething and frothing into boiling rage. "No more!" Slick, coppery blood coated the back of his tongue. His stumbling gait sped up to a shambling sprint.

Eighth kicked a piece of rubble into the air, slapping his wrist against it. He spun, light on his feet, spooling a line of light out before him, then tapped his palm, halting the cord's extension. The makeshift bludgeon swung with him at knee level, circling ever faster, building speed. With a bloody scream, Eighth dug his heels into the floor, arresting his movement and flinging his arm wide.

The chunk of wood circled one last time, uncoiling on its line with tremendous force before flying forward. It sailed past the Redeye's legs, the lightline striking and sticking at its shins. The weight pulled suddenly taut, blurring forward in a circle about the Soulless's legs. Eighth threw his other hand high, and a solid stream of quicksilver flew at the creature's chest.

Eighth dropped low to one hand, setting his heels firmly to the planks below. He released his weightloss, gritted his teeth, and heaved on the line with all his might.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Eza soared through the air. The good news was that she was no longer trapped. The bad news was that she was quite quickly heading towards the wall. She iron pulled on the hinges of a door across from her to slow down. It worked, and she hit the wall with an amount of force only significant enough to cause bruises. Nasty ones, sure, but just bruises.

She heard a sickening crack as she impacted. Eza saw that the door she'd now pulled on multiple times had become partially detached from its door frame. That wouldn't be a great option to anchor herself again.

Eza slid down to the ground, then immediately took off after the monster again, her mind still filled with rage. She watched its motions carefully as she ran, trying to find the best spot to attack it from. It was lifting its arms high, advancing forwards. That mean it was occupied, distracted.

It also mean that it was attacking someone. She looked in the direction that it was facing, and the anger burning in her heart was extinguished by a new emotion. Cold, icy fear. It was going after Eighth. Eighth was so injured that he was practically defenseless. If the monster wasn't stopped, he'd kill him.

And Eza didn't know how to stop it. She couldn't see all of what was going on, her friend partially blocked from view by the beast, but she could hear Eighth's scream. She reached her destination and, not knowing what else to do, tried slashing at the thing's heel tendons again.

Quote

I have to flash learn all of Rust in less than a week for an internship interview so I might take a little longer than usual to reply to posts this upcoming week.

@Koloss17

Edited October 6, 2024 by Lunamor
Continuity

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 10/3/2024 at 10:29 PM, Longshot97 said:

 

Eighth kicked a piece of rubble into the air, slapping his wrist against it. He spun, light on his feet, spooling a line of light out before him, then tapped his palm, halting the cord's extension. The makeshift bludgeon swung with him at knee level, circling ever faster, building speed. With a bloody scream, Eighth dug his heels into the floor, arresting his movement and flinging his arm wide.

The chunk of wood circled one last time, uncoiling on its line with tremendous force before flying forward. It sailed past the Redeye's legs, the lightline striking and sticking at its shins. The weight pulled suddenly taut, blurring forward in a circle about the Soulless's legs. Eighth threw his other hand high, and a solid stream of quicksilver flew at the creature's chest.

Eighth dropped low to one hand, setting his heels firmly to the planks below. He released his weightloss, gritted his teeth, and heaved on the line with all his might.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

 

23 hours ago, Lunamor said:

 

And Eza didn't know how to stop it. She couldn't see all of what was going on, her friend partially blocked from view by the beast, but she could hear Eighth's scream. She reached her destination and, not knowing what else to do, tried slashing at the thing's heel tendons again.

@Koloss17

War felt a slash at his heels. The girl was back, already. When is she gonna quit? As he turned, the other nuisance wrapped something around his legs and pushed. There was force there that War hadn’t anticipated, and he fell.

Good news was his hand was free. Bad news was he was now on the floor. These darned brats and their perseverance. He wanted to say something angry, but had just enough sense to realize he was beating a dead horse. A smile grew on his face.

”hehe. Horse”

Edited October 7, 2024 by Koloss17

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 10/5/2024 at 8:13 PM, Lunamor said:

@Koloss17Eza soared through the air. The good news was that she was no longer trapped. The bad news was that she was quite quickly heading towards the wall. She iron pulled on the hinges of a door across from her to slow down. It worked, and she hit the wall with an amount of force only significant enough to cause bruises. Nasty ones, sure, but just bruises.

She heard a sickening crack as she impacted. Eza saw that the door she'd now pulled on multiple times had become partially detached from its door frame. That wouldn't be a great option to anchor herself again.

Eza slid down to the ground, then immediately took off after the monster again, her mind still filled with rage. She watched its motions carefully as she ran, trying to find the best spot to attack it from. It was lifting its arms high, advancing forwards. That mean it was occupied, distracted.

It also mean that it was attacking someone. She looked in the direction that it was facing, and the anger burning in her heart was extinguished by a new emotion. Cold, icy fear. It was going after Eighth. Eighth was so injured that he was practically defenseless. If the monster wasn't stopped, he'd kill him.

And Eza didn't know how to stop it. She couldn't see all of what was going on, her friend partially blocked from view by the beast, but she could hear Eighth's scream. She reached her destination and, not knowing what else to do, tried slashing at the thing's heel tendons again.

 

On 10/6/2024 at 5:12 PM, Koloss17 said:

War felt a slash at his heels. The girl was back, already. When is she gonna quit? As he turned, the other nuisance wrapped something around his legs and pushed. There was force there that War hadn’t anticipated, and he fell.

Good news was his hand was free. Bad news was he was now on the floor. These darned brats and their perseverance. He wanted to say something angry, but had just enough sense to realize he was beating a dead horse. A smile grew on his face.

”hehe. Horse”

Three things happened.

Blood fountained through the air, and the Soulless's legs buckled. The corpse was tossed casually aside, breaking sickeningly apart upon the wall.

The stream of quicksilver, nearly solid as it flew, struck the Redeye on the chest with enormous force, spraying off to the sides.

And the demon's feet left the ground at speed, flinging it into the air.

For a timeless moment it hung there, suspended helplessly. The lightline chaining its arm to the wall held for a brief moment, straining ever tighter. Then, with a crunch, the support beam was ripped from the wall, crashing down to the floorboards. Not a second later, the line tore from the Redeye's hand, a bloody strip of flesh flapping uselessly at its end.

The Soulless landed flat on its back, hard enough to shake the floors. Eighth stumbled on trembling knees. The creature's legs faced him, bound together at the ankles. Blood trickled from its severed heels. Both hands were free, and it barely seemed stunned. Indeed, an amused smile stretched its face.

Eza stood at the thing's side. It was a miracle it had not crushed her as it fell. But she was close. Too close.

Eighth of the Eve turned and ran.

Ordinarily, he would have had no hope of moving the Soulless even an inch. The creature towered over him, frame rippling with muscle. It must have weighed twenty stone or more.

But the creature had landed on the quicksilver.

His gloved hand flared with light. Without turning, without releasing his grip, Eighth reached out, urging the metal to coalesce fully beneath the Redeye and to flow.

The start felt slow - agonizingly so. But he was moving. Building momentum. Eighth strained his legs, heaving with all the muscles of back and shoulder. They sped rapidly away from Eza. But Eighth's goal was not merely distance.

Through blurry eyes, Eighth made out the crater through the floorboards.

Desperately, he forced his legs to strike the ground faster. He bent low - ignoring the pain tearing through his rent back - and urged himself to even greater speed.

The enormous hole drew closer, yawning before him. Eighth's foot touched down on the jagged floorboards, and he crouched at the very edge of the abyss, poised almost to topple over into the hole.

Tapping his palm, Eighth released the lightline. And, legs snapping forward, Eighth opened himself to his weightloss. Mid-jump, he felt half of his mass drawn into the medallion. Eighth flew forward, clearing the edge easily, rising high over the gaping pit.

One flailing hand caught a rafter, and he held on grimly, dangling in the open air. His other hand - the one with the lightline - he held outstretched before him, fingers splayed. Eighth twisted, watching the Soulless flying across the floor, borne on a plateau of rippling metal. Eighth reached out, only dimly aware of his glove glowing even brighter. The metal seemed to quicken at the mere touch of his thoughts.

Clenching his fingers into a fist, Eighth yanked his hand back. And with a final burst of speed, the quicksilver flowed over the edge.

And the Redeye, face yet twisted in with grotesque smile, fell into the darkness below.

The impact was enough to shake the entire room. Dust billowed up from the pit. The sound of splintering wood and breaking bone reached Eighth.

His grip finally slipped, and fell sprawling to the floor below. Those injuries, forgotten in the heat of battle, now clamored for his attention. He didn't even try shoving the pain aside, or keeping it from his face. He merely rolled over, features contorted with agony, and peered over the lip of the crater.

The room below was dark and dusty. He made nothing out. Dimly, metal glinted below, and he stood up with a groan. The veins about his glove slowly brightened, and he reached out carefully.

The quicksilver rose from the pit, twisting about in an ever-rising spire of liquid to meet his outstretched hand. The metal flowed up his arm, and he frowned idly. Was it lighter than it should have been?

Slowly, he plodded around the hole. He stopped painfully to lift Seiju from the ground. The Aviar was still unconscious. Good. She will not want to be awake when I set that wing.

Eighth stood up, stepping with deliberately slowness. Everything was shaking. His eyes sought Eza in the dim haze of settling dust. Where is she?

He found her, still crouched as though to fight, bloody knife in hand. Her pupils were dilated in the flickering light, her knuckles white about her blade's grip. Silently, he stepped up to her side. For the moment, everything was still. And for the first time, he allowed himself to raise his head and look around them.

The dead and dying littered the floor. Vile, pestilent cadavers lay next to officers lacking breath to scream. Blood was everywhere, and the contents of the room were in shambles. The Greeneye still hung, suspended in its trap.

Only a few constables remained standing. So few. Some, scattered across the room, nursed injuries that would forever cripple them. Some cling to life despite mortal wounds.

One man stood alone amidst the ruin.

The dull steel of his eyes glinted through the haze. A gleaming weapon shone in his hand, the only true spot of light in this battlefield. His cloak shifted about his spindly frame, as though stirred in a strong breeze.

But no wind touched these barren halls.

Quote

No worries @Lunamor. Absolutely get it. Please take your time.

Your move @Koloss17. Also, I really like the new profile picture. Nice choice.

Also, I had a good laugh imagining Famine finally getting to his feet before a two-hundred-pound giant up and fell on his head. Not saying that's what happened, I just wanted to share the humor.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Edited October 8, 2024 by Longshot97
Weird formatting errors

[Koloss17 She/They]

3 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

 

Three things happened.

Blood fountained through the air, and the Soulless's legs buckled. The corpse was tossed casually aside, breaking sickeningly apart upon the wall.

The stream of quicksilver, nearly solid as it flew, struck the Redeye on the chest with enormous force, spraying off to the sides.

And the demon's feet left the ground at speed, flinging it into the air.

For a timeless moment it hung there, suspended helplessly. The lightline chaining its arm to the wall held for a brief moment, straining ever tighter. Then, with a crunch, the support beam was ripped from the wall, crashing down to the floorboards. Not a second later, the line tore from the Redeye's hand, a bloody strip of flesh flapping uselessly at its end.

The Soulless landed flat on its back, hard enough to shake the floors. Eighth stumbled on trembling knees. The creature's legs faced him, bound together at the ankles. Blood trickled from its severed heels. Both hands were free, and it barely seemed stunned. Indeed, an amused smile stretched its face.

Eza stood at the thing's side. It was a miracle it had not crushed her as it fell. But she was close. Too close.

Eighth of the Eve turned and ran.

Ordinarily, he would have had no hope of moving the Soulless even an inch. The creature towered over him, frame rippling with muscle. It must have weighed twenty stone or more.

But the creature had landed on the quicksilver.

His gloved hand flared with light. Without turning, without releasing his grip, Eighth reached out, urging the metal to coalesce fully beneath the Redeye and to flow.

The start felt slow - agonizingly so. But he was moving. Building momentum. Eighth strained his legs, heaving with all the muscles of back and shoulder. They sped rapidly away from Eza. But Eighth's goal was not merely distance.

Through blurry eyes, Eighth made out the crater through the floorboards.

Desperately, he forced his legs to strike the ground faster. He bent low - ignoring the pain tearing through his rent back - and urged himself to even greater speed.

The enormous hole drew closer, yawning before him. Eighth's foot touched down on the jagged floorboards, and he crouched at the very edge of the abyss, poised almost to topple over into the hole.

Tapping his palm, Eighth released the lightline. And, legs snapping forward, Eighth opened himself to his weightloss. Mid-hump, he felt half of his mass drawn into the medallion. Eighth flew forward, clearing the edge easily, rising high over the gaping pit.

One flailing hand caught a rafter, and he held on grimly, dangling in the open air. His other hand - the one with the lightline - he held outstretched before him, fingers splayed. Eighth twisted, watching the Soulless flying across the floor, borne on a plateau of rippling metal. Eighth reached out, only dimly aware of his glove glowing even brighter. The metal seemed to quicken at the mere touch of his thoughts.

Clenching his fingers into a fist, Eighth yanked his hand back. And with a final burst of speed, the quicksilver flowed over the edge.

And the Redeye, face yet twisted in with grotesque smile, fell into the darkness below.

The impact was enough to shake the entire room. Dust billowed up from the pit. The sound of splintering wood and breaking bone reached Eighth.

His grip finally slipped, and fell sprawling to the floor below. Those injuries, forgotten in the heat of battle, now clamored for his attention. He didn't even try shoving the pain aside, or keeping it from his face. He merely rolled over, features contorted with agony, and peered over the lip of the crater.

The room below was dark and dusty. He made nothing out. Dimly, metal glinted below, and he stood up with a groan. The veins about his glove slowly brightened, and he reached out carefully.

The quicksilver rose from the pit, twisting about in an ever-rising spire of liquid to meet his outstretched hand. The metal flowed up his arm, and he frowned idly. Was it lighter than it should have been?

Slowly, he plodded around the hole. He stopped painfully to lift Seiju from the ground. The Aviar was still unconscious. Good. She will not want to be awake when I set that wing.

Eighth stood up, stepping with deliberately slowness. Everything was shaking. His eyes sought Eza in the dim haze of settling dust. Where is she?

He found her, still crouched as though to fight, bloody knife in hand. Her pupils were dilated in the flickering light, her knuckles white about her blade's grip. Silently, he stepped up to her side. For the moment, everything was still. And for the first time, he allowed himself to raise his head and look around them.

The dead and dying littered the floor. Vile, pestilent cadavers lay next to officers lacking breath to scream. Blood was everywhere, and the contents of the room were in shambles. The Greeneye still hung, suspended in its trap.

Only a few constables remained standing. So few. Some, scattered across the room, nursed injuries that would forever cripple them. Some cling to life despite mortal wounds.

One man stood alone amidst the ruin.

The dull steel of his eyes glinted through the haze. A gleaming weapon shone in his hand, the only true spot of light in this battlefield. His cloak shifted about his spindly frame, as though stirred in a strong breeze.

But no wind touched these barren halls.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor

Perses.

Perses watched as the battle came to an end, with a surprising amount of calm. This wasn’t a fight that mattered. He had won when he started it.

He turned to the newfound leader of the group, analyzing him. Not an allomancer, not a radiant. Something else. He had surprising power for someone with so little natural ability. Perses opened his mouth to speak.

”hey boss. Can you get me out of here? It’s a bit cramped.”

Without looking, Perses shot the final horseman, his aluminum bullet exploding the creature’s head. A loud ringing sounded in his ears from the gunshot, before the room got quiet once more.

He once again addressed the survivors. “Gather the dead, care for the wounded. Congratulations, you get to live. But only because I allowed you to.”

Perses turned to go, then remembered something. “Oh yes, one more thing. Smokestack’s had a long history ignoring the Mistwarrens. Given your negligence, I have taken it upon myself to clean the messes that you left to fester. It would be smart for you to stay clear of my mistwarrens and stay out of my way.” He turned away, assessing how to leave. “Let this night be a lesson. If you interfere in the Mistwarrens, I will not be as lenient as I have been today.”

With that, Perses found it. Dropping an empty bullet casing and stepping on it, he pushed off of it through an opening in the building’s roof.

@Lunamor @Longshot97

[Lunamor she/her]

On 10/8/2024 at 1:36 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses.

Perses watched as the battle came to an end, with a surprising amount of calm. This wasn’t a fight that mattered. He had won when he started it.

He turned to the newfound leader of the group, analyzing him. Not an allomancer, not a radiant. Something else. He had surprising power for someone with so little natural ability. Perses opened his mouth to speak.

”hey boss. Can you get me out of here? It’s a bit cramped.”

Without looking, Perses shot the final horseman, his aluminum bullet exploding the creature’s head. A loud ringing sounded in his ears from the gunshot, before the room got quiet once more.

He once again addressed the survivors. “Gather the dead, care for the wounded. Congratulations, you get to live. But only because I allowed you to.”

Perses turned to go, then remembered something. “Oh yes, one more thing. Smokestack’s had a long history ignoring the Mistwarrens. Given your negligence, I have taken it upon myself to clean the messes that you left to fester. It would be smart for you to stay clear of my mistwarrens and stay out of my way.” He turned away, assessing how to leave. “Let this night be a lesson. If you interfere in the Mistwarrens, I will not be as lenient as I have been today.”

With that, Perses found it. Dropping an empty bullet casing and stepping on it, he pushed off of it through an opening in the building’s roof.

@Lunamor @Longshot97

Eza had room for only one thought in her head and could feel nothing but her heart pounding in her chest. The monsters had been killed and their most recent owner had left, but that didn't mean everyone was safe. Eighth was practically soaked in blood, and the constables on the ground were dying. She could deal with her horror, grief, and relief later.

She was fast and largely uninjured. Well, aside from the three butter knives sticking out of her shoulders. That was less than ideal, but they weren't causing dangerous levels of blood loss so long as she left them in and they didn't slow her down.

She looked around for a moment, then located a pool of blood that hadn't congealed too much yet. Dashing over, she splashed it all over herself until it looked like she'd been attacked by an axe murderer. If she played up her childlike appearance, she'd probably look more like a victim than a suspect. That would be important for what she was going to try to do.

Eza then called to Eighth over her shoulder, already sprinting towards the door.

"I'm going to find help, please don't die!"

With the state he and the constables were in, she figured that she could run for help and return faster than they could walk. Those more seriously injured might not be able to get up at all. The blood-curling screams that had been coming from the building likely had drawn at least some attention, so hopefully she wouldn't need to go far.

Quote

Eighth can ask her to stop if he wants to. I'm not writing too much for Eza right now because she's currently very single minded. If you guys think it's realistic, I figured that someone from the Edgedancers would be able to arrive fairly soon since there's an encampment of them nearby. @Scars of Hathsin had Arranis's spren go looking for an Edgedancer a while ago so they could also be arriving just now.

@Longshot97

@Scars of Hathsin

[Steel Speedster ♂]

Quote

I’ll also mention that if there are Edgedancers on the way, this could also be a way to explain how Phemus survives, as Koloss requested.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

11 hours ago, Lunamor said:

 

@Scars of Hathsin

Quote

It’s worth noting that while the geography of Alleycity is pretty nebulous, we had previously established that the Edgedancer camp was between the Sphere and the Mistwarrens, and that the smokestack constabulary was distanced enough from the mistwarrens to separate itself from it. 
 

However, given the commotion, it wouldn’t be surprising if some of the edgedancers arrived on the scene independently of getting called, as they also be fast.

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 10/8/2024 at 1:36 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses.

Perses watched as the battle came to an end, with a surprising amount of calm. This wasn’t a fight that mattered. He had won when he started it.

He turned to the newfound leader of the group, analyzing him. Not an allomancer, not a radiant. Something else. He had surprising power for someone with so little natural ability. Perses opened his mouth to speak.

”hey boss. Can you get me out of here? It’s a bit cramped.”

Without looking, Perses shot the final horseman, his aluminum bullet exploding the creature’s head. A loud ringing sounded in his ears from the gunshot, before the room got quiet once more.

He once again addressed the survivors. “Gather the dead, care for the wounded. Congratulations, you get to live. But only because I allowed you to.”

Perses turned to go, then remembered something. “Oh yes, one more thing. Smokestack’s had a long history ignoring the Mistwarrens. Given your negligence, I have taken it upon myself to clean the messes that you left to fester. It would be smart for you to stay clear of my mistwarrens and stay out of my way.” He turned away, assessing how to leave. “Let this night be a lesson. If you interfere in the Mistwarrens, I will not be as lenient as I have been today.”

With that, Perses found it. Dropping an empty bullet casing and stepping on it, he pushed off of it through an opening in the building’s roof.

It was over.

Eighth of the Eve stood dumbly in place. His ears still rang with the thunder of the cloaked man's weapon. He didn't move, merely stared after the man's flight.

As he watched, the moon slowly faded from a bloody red to the purest white. 

On 10/9/2024 at 7:31 PM, Lunamor said:

Eza had room for only one thought in her head and could feel nothing but her heart pounding in her chest. The monsters had been killed and their most recent owner had left, but that didn't mean everyone was safe. Eighth was practically soaked in blood, and the constables on the ground were dying. She could deal with her horror, grief, and relief later.

She was fast and largely uninjured. Well, aside from the three butter knives sticking out of her shoulders. That was less than ideal, but they weren't causing dangerous levels of blood loss so long as she left them in and they didn't slow her down.

She looked around for a moment, then located a pool of blood that hadn't congealed too much yet. Dashing over, she splashed it all over herself until it looked like she'd been attacked by an axe murderer. If she played up her childlike appearance, she'd probably look more like a victim than a suspect. That would be important for what she was going to try to do.

Eza then called to Eighth over her shoulder, already sprinting towards the door.

"I'm going to find help, please don't die!"

With the state he and the constables were in, she figured that she could run for help and return faster than they could walk. Those more seriously injured might not be able to get up at all. The blood-curling screams that had been coming from the building likely had drawn at least some attention, so hopefully she wouldn't need to go far.

Eza ran out the door, faster than Eighth could follow. He raised one hand after her, then slowly let it drop. She was already gone. Hopefully, she found help quickly.

The dead outnumbered the living, staring sightlessly up at frantic faces and lost expressions. Precious few of the constables still stood. Vacant, dazed eyes looked out from pale faces and bloodless lips. They glanced about the room, seemingly at a loss. Slowly, all eyes focused on a single man.

He was a rotund, aged man, with a bristling mustache and a heavily embroidered coat. He stared up through the opening in the roof after the cloaked man, working his jaw. An unlit smokepipe dangled between two fingers.

Wait. An opening? In the roof? Surely that hadn't been there before.

He was suddenly aware of the steady groan of overstressed timber and warping plaster. He turned slowly to the far wall. The wall where a constable's body hung embedded in the plaster. The site where he had tethered the rampaging Redeye, temporarily incapacitating him.

The wall sagged alarmingly, bulging into the room itself. Only splintered remains lingered of the loadbearing beam. Before Eighth's eyes, cracks spiderwebbed across the wall's surface.

The thunder, echoing throughout the halls, shaking the very building on its foundations. The persistent tremors throughout the night. The crater in the floor. The decimated walls.

What little conversation there was ceased as all the constables followed Eighth's gaze. For single moment, silence reigned.

The groan grew even louder, and a sharp crack split the air. Slowly, ponderously, the wall began to overturn.

* * *

Without pausing to consider, Eighth dashed forward and rammed his shoulder into place, arms spread wide across the plaster. Ever muscle in his body tensed, and his feet slid slowly across the floor. He gasped, fighting back a scream. The weight of what seemed to be the entire building bore down upon him. He bit down a scream as his tortured back took the strain.

Through blurry eyes, he could just make out the constables, rooted in place.

What are they waiting for? "Run!" Blood filled Eighth's mouth, and he coughed, spitting it in a stream to the side. "Grab the wounded, and run!"

And suddenly, everything was moving.

The ceiling cracked sharply. Fragments of timber rained down on the now-frantic constables. The grayhair was first out, assisting the officer with the shattered hip. The pale and sickly came next, color flooding their cheeks. One fell to the debris. Eighth could hear their skull caving in from where he stood.

A crunch sounded next to him. Eighth turned to see the tear-stricken officer hefting a large timber, ramming it through the plaster and grounding it on the floor. Eighth cautiously backed away from the wall. It held.

No time to waste. Eighth shoved the officer ahead of him, ramming his blade into its scabbard. The officer ran, pausing only to throw a legless constable over his shoulders. Panic must have flooded his blood, for he ran fast, far outstripping the remaining constables.

Eighth knelt, cradling Seiju in one arm. One eye fluttered open, and she chirped questioningly. Eighth ignored her, forcing his legs forward. Time enough for that later.

He was at the door before remembering his cousin.

Eighth of the Eve halted, feet skidding across the floorboards. He turned, wild-eyed. There was the body, withered and shriveled, but not beyond recognition. Their chest was a bloody mess, and blood trickled from the hole, drilled neatly into their forehead.

Eighth simply stood there, shoulders heaving. He stared, then looked down the hallway at the fleeing constables. Then back again. He was a monster. This was their doing. Let it be their tomb. It was only fitting.

But...

Is this what she would want? What anyone would want? What anyone deserves?

What family deserves?

Eighth ground his teeth together, then dashed back into the room. Siezing Asylum under one arm, he crouched and heaved, throwing them over one shoulder. The corpse was shockingly heavy, and Eighth staggered under its weight.

A jagged shard of wood fell, splintering across the floor. Right where his head had been, mere moments ago. He turned towards the door. Time to run. Long past that, in fact.

With a piercing crack, the ceiling caved in. A torrent of shattered planks and clay tiles rained over the doorway. Eighth gritted his teeth, then ran, huddling protectively over the Aviar in his arm. Reaching the rapidly-growing debris pile, he crouched and leapt with all his might. 

Pain blossomed across his back. Blinding, crippling pain. What felt like a chunk of pottery cracked him across the head. Stars swam in his vision. He staggered against the corridor. The plaster gave way under one hand like rotten wood.

The entire building. Distant Father preserve us. The entire building is coming down.

Yanking his arm free, Eighth of the Eve ran for his life.

Seiju coughed weakly in his arms, and before him, the welcoming paths of her talent beckoned him. Eighth darted forth on light feet, the floor giving way just behind him. The roar of the constabulary's collapse was nearly deafening now. He turned a corner at speed, barely avoiding chunks of debris. One clipped him across the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. Grimacing, he forced himself to release his weightloss. His pace slowed, but his feet settled more heavily on the ground, and he bore up under the impacts.

He tried to ignore the burning, seething pain of his back, only worsened by the debris. Tried to ignore the pounding in his head, struggling to see in the darkened hallways. Tried to ignore the throbbing across one hip, louder with every stride. Tried to ignore the searing agony in his shoulder, struggling to hold the only family left to him.

Eighth rounded another corner and saw the last of the constables stagger out into the moonlight. More than one had collapsed to the street, clutching wounds old and new. In the distance, he thought he saw men. Glowing, radiant men, approaching at speed. Heart surging with hope, Eighth redoubled his speed.

With a resounding crash, the nearest wall collapsed. Not even a second later, the roof followed suit. Cruel, jagged splinters flew as clay dust filled the air.

Lines of fire carved their way across the right side of his body. Blood clouded his eye. His ear went numb. Eighth of the Eve screamed as half of his world disappeared in a red haze. His leg gave out beneath him, and his opposite hip followed suit with one final protest. His back seemed to go up in flames.

Clawing at the floor, he dragged himself another inch. He managed to get one knee under him, pushing with his good arm. Then the floorboards gave way under his left hand, and his shoulder seemed to howl as his left arm went numb. He opened his mouth to scream again, and choking dust filled his lungs. Blood sprayed across the floor as he coughed, gasping for air.

The moonlit night seemed so close. The opening had not even collapsed yet. Eighth of the Eve lay mere inches from safety, and could not move at all. He stared helplessly out at the massed crowd.

Without warning, a fragment of tile plummeted from above. Eighth saw it in perfect detail as fell, drawing ever closer with unerring precision. Light vanished suddenly. He felt the midnight breeze - cool upon his skin - but even with his eyes open, there was darkness.

Eighth released his breath.

His right hand slid across the floor. Something sliced his palm, the ground now slick with blood. His fingers landed upon something tiny and warm. With one final effort, he drew his arm close, holding Seiju to him, curling his body protectively around her. Her tiny heart fluttered against his chest, and she huddled close, as though to hide from the world.

Eighth of the Eve smiled.

He imagined, as the world crumbled about him, that he felt small hands clasping his own.

* * *

Eighth lay still, alone in the dark.

Visions swam half-formed before him. Deeds done and gone, tales long told and disbelieved, worlds never before and never again seen. People of all kinds. Familiar. Alien. Divine. Profane. There and gone, like the loving tumult of a waking dream.

He sat up cautiously. No pain. How odd. So this was Ironeyes' domain. How very...peaceful.

A picture caught his eye, and he whirled to stare after it. Already gone, but so vivid in his mind. Branded upon his vision.

A vast, beautiful sea, scattered throughout with vibrant pockets of life. Colorful Aviar filled the air, flying in all directions. Formless shapes, majestic and enormous, were just visible below the waves

That...that was home.

He shifted his gaze to the vast array before him.

A world of stone skies and endless tunnels. The burning fireworld of eternal flight. The endless night of the nightmare plains. The floating cities of a fallen world. The land of ash and mist.

All the worlds he had seen, and countless others. All visited from here. From this place of dreams.

"Did you want to die?"

Eighth froze, heart pounding. That voice...

Slowly, Eighth turned around.

She stood before him. Slight of stature, striking in appearance, suffused with life. His unlikely star. His precious flame. The light that had drawn him, across worlds uncountable.

"El?" he whispered.

She cocked her head. "Elmina? No, I'm...oh. You wouldn't know that. Ah...yes. Yes, I'm El."

Eighth sank to his knees, overwhelmed. He reached out a trembling hand, but with a strange ripple, El was now too far away to touch. He leaned forward, suddenly desperate, but again, she was too far.

Always too far. Unbidden, tears traced their way down his cheeks.

She faced him with an open, avid curiosity. As though she had never quite seen him before. What is happening?

"Did you want to die?" she repeated. "You just...gave up, in there. You stopped moving, stopped struggling. Stopped dreaming." She stepped forward, though she drew no closer. "Why?"

Eighth stared at her a moment longer. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sat back heavily, arms about his legs. He may have escaped the pain, but he was as tired as ever.

"My Father banished me," he said, choking on the words, "for my blasphemy. Patji has exiled me. And yet, here I am." Solitude. Solemnity. Sanctity. Silence. Self-control. "Every tenet of the trappers, I have betrayed."

He choked, and for a long moment, there was silence. The half-formed dreams of countless worlds surrounded them.

"Yet," Eighth said at last, "still I dare to carry on. My home may be lost. But my heart is not." 

El stared at him for a long moment. Then a sad smile creased her features. Slowly, she extended one elegant hand towards him.

Eighth reached out, and at long last, their hands met.

* * *

Eighth of the Eve opened his eyes.

Cool, sweet air filled his lungs. The stars danced overhead, and the moon shone pure over the city. For a blissful moment, the peace of that dreamworld lingered. He forgot about El. He forgot about Eza. He forgot about the long night's events. Sunlight now peeked over the horizon. The darkest part of the night was gone. Dawn was here.

Like a crashing tide, the pain suddenly overwhelmed him. Not on inch of his body was spared. Cuts and bruises, breaks and fractures

He tried to rise to his feet. Tried to roll over. Tried to lift his head. Tried to call out for help. Nothing.

Helpless, Eighth laid there and waited to die.

Quote

Ah, that felt good to write. I'm now also terrified that I've written myself into a corner, and this actually makes zero sense. Why do I do this to myself.

For those confused about what happened...I'm not sure I want to explain outright. What happens here is fully justified diagetically, but is the intersection of many disparate ideas, and I worry explaining it would sully the effect. What little effect there is, at any right. I'd like to preserve what pathos I've managed to bring to bear in this passage.

Suffice it to say that Eighth of the Eve and Seiju were both very much about to be buried alive. Now, they are both somewhere safe - the Corridor - with a few other vagabonds. How? Why? Excellent questions. See my previous paragraph.

Oh, and Asylum's corpse is there with them. Anything touching Eighth (within reason, like clothes, gear, people) are with him right now.

@Lunamor

Edited October 12, 2024 by Longshot97
Hours of editing, and I STILL missed a tense disagreement. Why do I do this to myself.

[Lunamor she/her]

2 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

It was over.

Eighth of the Eve stood dumbly in place. His ears still rang with the thunder of the cloaked man's weapon. He didn't move, merely stared after the man's flight.

As he watched, the moon slowly faded from a bloody red to the purest white. 

Eza ran out the door, faster than Eighth could follow. He raised one hand after her, then slowly let it drop. She was already gone. Hopefully, she found help quickly.

The dead outnumbered the living, staring sightlessly at the living. Precious few of the constables still stood. Vacant, dazed eyes looked out from pale faces and bloodless lips. They looked about the room, seemingly at a loss. Slowly, all eyes focused on a single man.

He was a rotund, aged man, with a bristling mustache and a heavily embroidered coat. He stared up through the opening in the roof, working his jaw. An unlit smokepipe dangled between two fingers.

Wait. An opening? In the roof? Surely that hadn't been there before.

He was suddenly aware of the steady groan of overstressed timber and warping plaster. He turned slowly to the far wall. The wall where a constable's body hung embedded in the plaster. The site where he had tethered the rampaging Redeye, temporarily incapacitating him.

The wall sagged alarmingly, bulging into the room itself. Only splintered remains lingered of the loadbearing beam. Before Eighth's eyes, cracks spiderwebbed across the wall's surface.

The thunder, echoing throughout the halls, shaking the very building on its foundations. The persistent tremors throughout the night. The crater in the floor. The decimated walls.

What little conversation there was ceased as all the constables followed Eighth's gaze. For single moment, silence reigned.

The groan grew even louder, and a sharp crack split the air. Slowly, ponderously, the wall began to overturn.

* * *

Without pausing to consider, Eighth dashed forward and rammed his shoulder into place, arms spread wide across the plaster. Ever muscle in his body tensed, and his feet slid slowly across the floor. He gasped. The weight of what seemed to be the entire building bore down upon him. He bit down a scream as his tortured back took the strain.

Through blurry eyes, he could just make out the constables, rooted in place.

What are they waiting for? "Run!" Blood filled Eighth's mouth, and he coughed, spitting it in a stream to the side. "Grab the wounded, and run!"

And suddenly, everything was moving.

The ceiling cracked sharply. Fragments of timber rained down on the now-frantic constables. The grayhaired constable was first out, assisting the officer with the shattered hip. The pale and sickly came next, color flooding their cheeks. One fell beneath debris. Eighth could hear their skull caving in from where he stood.

A crunch sounded next to him. Eighth turned to see the tear-stricken officer hefting a large timber, ramming it through the plaster and grounding it into the floor. Eighth cautiously backed away from the wall. It held.

No time to waste. Eighth shoved the officer ahead. He ran, only pausing to throw a legless constable over his shoulders. Panic must have flooded his blood, for he ran fast, far outstripping the remaining constables.

Eighth knelt, cradling Seiju in one arm. One eye fluttered open, and she chirped questioningly. Eighth ignored her, forcing his legs forward. Time enough for that later.

He was at the door before remembering his cousin.

Eighth of the Eve halted, feet skidding across the floorboards. He turned, wild-eyed. There was the body, withered and shriveled, but not beyond recognition. Their chest was a bloody mess, and blood trickled from the hole, drilled neatly into their forehead.

Eighth simply stood there, shoulders heaving. He stared, then looked down the hallway at the fleeing constables. Then back again. He was a monster. This is their doing. And so let it be their tomb. It was only fitting.

But...

Is this what she would want? What anyone would want? What anyone deserves?

What family deserves?

Eighth gritted his teeth, then dashed back into the room. Siezing Asylum under one arm, he crouched and heaved, throwing them over one shoulder. The corpse was shockingly heavy, and Eighth staggered under its weight.

A jagged shard of wood fell, splintering across the floor. Right where his head had been, mere moments ago. He turned towards the door. Time to run. Long past that, in fact.

With a piercing crack, the ceiling caved. A torrent of shattered planks and clay tiles rained over the doorway. Eighth bowed his head, then ran, huddling protectively over the Aviar in his arm. Reaching the debris pile, he leapt with all his might. 

Pain blossomed across his back. Blinding, crippling pain. What felt like a chunk of pottery cracked him across the head. Stars swam in his vision. He staggered against the corridor. The plaster gave way under one hand like rotten wood.

The entire building. Distant Father preserve us, the entire building is coming down.

Yanking his arm free, Eighth of the Eve ran for his life. Seiju coughed weakly, and before him, the welcoming paths of her talent beckoned him. Eighth darted forth on light feet, the floor giving way just behind him. The roar of the constabulary's collapse was nearly deafening now. He turned a corner at speed, just barely dodging chunks of debris. One clipped him across the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. Grimacing, he forced himself to release his weightloss. His pace slowed, but his feet settled more heavily on the ground, and he bore up under the impacts.

He tried to ignore the burning, seething pain of his back, only worsened by the debris. Tried to ignore the pounding in his head, struggling to see in the darkened hallways. Tried to ignore the throbbing across one hip, louder with every stride. Tried to ignore the searing agony in his shoulder, struggling to support the only family left to him.

Eighth rounded another corner and saw the last of the constables stagger out into the moonlight. More than one had collapsed to the street, clutching wounds old and new. In the distance, he thought he saw men. Glowing, radiant men, approaching at speed. Heart surging with hope, Eighth redoubled his speed.

With a resounding crash, the nearest wall collapsed. The roof followed suit, and jagged splinters flew as clay dust filled the air.

Lines of fire carved their way across the right side of his body. Blood clouded his eye. His ear went numb. Eighth of the Eve screamed as half of his world disappeared in a red haze. His leg buckled, and his opposite hip followed suit with one final protest. His back seemed to go up in flames.

Clawing at the floor, he dragged himself another inch. He managed to get one knee under him, pushing with his good arm. Then the floorboards gave way under his left hand, and his shoulder seemed to howl as his left arm went numb. He opened his mouth to scream again, and choking dust filled his lungs. Blood sprayed across the floor as he coughed, gasping for air.

The moonlit night seemed so close. The opening had not even collapsed yet. Eighth of the Eve lay mere inches from safety, and could not move at all. He stared helplessly out at the massed crowd.

Without warning, a fragment of tile plummeted from above. Eighth saw it in perfect detail as fell, drawing ever closer with unerring precision. Light vanished suddenly.

Eighth released his breath.

His right hand slid across the floor. Something sliced his palm, the ground now slick with blood. His fingers landed upon something tiny and warm. With one final effort, he drew his arm close, holding Seiju to him, curling his body protectively around her. Her tiny heart fluttered against his chest, and she huddled close, as though to hide from the world.

Eighth of the Eve smiled.

He imagined, as darkness claimed him, that he felt small hands clasping his own.

* * *

Eighth lay there alone in the dark.

Visions swam half-formed before him. Deeds done and gone, tales long told and disbelieved, worlds never before and never again seen. People of all kinds. Familiar. Alien. Divine. Profane. There and gone, like the loving tumult of a waking dream.

He sat up cautiously. No pain. How odd. So this was Ironeyes' domain. How very...peaceful.

A picture caught his eye, and he whirled to stare after it. Already gone, but so vivid in his mind. Branded upon his vision.

A vast, beautiful sea, scattered throughout with vibrant pockets of life. Colorful Aviar filled the air, flying in all directions. Formless shapes, majestic and enormous, were just visible below the waves

That...that was home.

He shifted his gaze to the vast array before him.

A world of stone skies and endless tunnels. The burning fireworld of eternal flight. The endless night of the nightmare plains. The floating cities of a fallen world. The land of ash and mist.

All the worlds he had seen, and countless others. All visited from here. From this place of dreams.

"Did you want to die?"

Eighth whirled around, heart pounding. That voice...

She stood before him. Slight of stature, striking in appearance, suffused with life. His unlikely star. His precious flame. The light that had drawn him, across worlds uncountable.

"El?" he whispered.

She cocked her head. "Elmina? No. I'm...oh. You wouldn't know that. Ah...yes. Yes, I'm El."

Eighth sank to his knees. He reached out a trembling hand, but with a strange ripple, El was now too far away to touch. He leaned forward, suddenly desperate, but again, she was too far.

Always too far. Unbidden, tears traced their way down his cheeks.

She faced him with an open, avid curiosity. As though she had never quite seen him before. What is happening?

"Did you want to die?" she repeated. "You just...gave up, in there. You stopped moving, stopped struggling. Stopped dreaming." She stepped forward, though she drew no closer. "Why?"

Eighth stared at her a moment longer. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sat back heavily, legs before him. He may have escaped the pain, but he was as tired as ever.

"My Father banished me," he said, choking on the words, "for my blasphemy. Patji has exiled me. And yet, here I am." Solitude. Solemnity. Sanctity. Silence. Self-control. "Every tenet of the trappers, I have betrayed."

He choked, and for a long moment, there was silence. The half-formed dreams of countless worlds surrounded them.

"Yet," Eighth said at last, "still I dare to carry on. My home may be lost. But my heart is not." 

El stared at him for a long moment. Then a sad smile creased her features, and she extended one elegant hand towards him.

Eighth reached out, and at long last, their hands met.

* * *

Eighth of the Eve opened his eyes.

Cool, sweet air filled his lungs. The stars danced overhead, and the moon shone pure over the city. For a blissful moment, the peace of that dreamworld lingered. He forgot about El. He forgot about Eza. He forgot about the long night's events. Sunlight now peeked over the horizon. The darkest part of the night was gone. Dawn was here.

Like a crashing tide, the pain suddenly overwhelmed him. Not on inch of his body was spared. Cuts and bruises, breaks and fractures

He tried to rise to his feet. Tried to roll over. Tried to lift his head. Tried to call out for help. Nothing.

Helpless, Eighth laid there and waited to die.

@Lunamor

Eza made it outside just in time to see the arrival of a glowing person. They had unnaturally bright green eyes this time. They were running towards the constabulary, a grim focus on their face. That was probably someone coming to help; the only glowing people she'd had interactions with seemed to be the heroic type.

She was also greeted by a few shocked gasps and one particularly frightened scream. She looked down, remembering that she was covered in blood, then opened her mouth to call for help. Before she could get a word out, the glowing person had reached her. They paused briefly, glowing brighter and reaching out towards the knives in her shoulders.

Eza jerked away and quickly tried to wipe the slightly congealed blood off of her face.

"The blood's for attention, go help the people inside!"

Best to be blunt. The glowing person nodded with a slight smile, and faced the building again. A sharp crack rang out through the street, and Eza felt numb. All she could do was stare as wood began to splinter. There wasn't anything she could do about those trapped inside. She... she needed to be pragmatic.

Or was she just being selfish? Eighth would've run in there to help strangers. She needed to help her friend. Eza took a step forwards, then saw a few battered constables begin to emerge. She dashed over worriedly. She couldn't see Eighth. Why wasn't he with them?

No, he was there. Stumbling, completely bruised and looking like he'd done a very poor job of butchering a cow, but he was there. Eza tried to get closer, reach out and help him make it through those last few meters, but recoiled at the sound of another crack.

The wall came crashing down, partially burying her friend. His screams stabbed into her ears as new blood glistened in the moonlight. She extended her hand once again, but was too slow. A massive tile reached Eighth before she could, completely burying him. She burned iron, trying to spot the unique line leading to his strange metal, but there was too much debris blocking it from her.

"No!"

Eza furiously clawed at the debris, trying to lift one of those massive planks away. The glowing person joined her and brought strength that must've been twenty times her own. It didn't take long for the pile to be cast aside. She could barely look as the final slab was removed, expecting to see a broken and crushed body.

Instead, there was nothing.

Her eyes shot over to the glowing person, seeking some sort of other option. There had to be a way to find him; just because he wasn't there didn't mean he had been completely crushed, or been torn to bits, or been lost forever...

The glowing person just slowly shook their head.

"I'm so sorry."

Eza ran. She didn't respond, didn't wait for someone to look at her injuries, didn't even look behind her. She just ran, and ran, and ran. She wanted to get away. She needed to get away. From the horror, the grief, the pain. But she couldn't. It kept pace, staying right by her side. Its breathing was the same, its heartbeat her own. She could feel it in her lungs, her eyes, her stomach. In the tears streaming down her face, in the pain shooting through her shoulders, in the blood seeping from the wound on her cheek.

She wasn't sure how long she ran for. She'd reached somewhere unfamiliar, but the alleys here all seemed to look the same to her. Eza was forced to stop when her legs nearly gave out and breathing became too difficult. She stumbled into an alley and absentmindedly yanked out the knives embedded in her shoulders. It wasn't enough pain to make her guilt go away.

This was her fault. The only person who had trusted her in years had died because of her. She was nothing more than a blight, something everyone needed to stay away from. Everything in her life had been screaming it at her. She hadn't listened.

Stupid, selfish, worthless.

Eza screamed. It was hoarse, wordless, quieter than it should've been. It was the last of the air from lungs that hadn't yet caught their breath. It was rage, sorrow, and hatred. It was nothing and everything and things quit making sense as the night blurred around her.

The yell echoed longer than it should've. It wasn't just her own. Sounded an awful lot like her, though.

Eza slumped to the ground, exhausted. She pulled her knees to her chest, then began to sob. The blood running down her face mixed with her tears as she realized that she would always be alone.

She suddenly felt the cold metal of a shiny, silvery case pressed against her side as she realized that meant she had nothing to lose.

Quote

There honestly isn't much of a way for Eza to find Eighth right now. She both thinks he is dead and would have no idea how to find a teleported person anyways. Where Eza ran is purposefully ambiguous, she might've wound up near Eighth if the magic(?) that moved him did so in an intentional way. She isn't being very quiet. I'm happy to alter this if you'd like me to, Longshot.

Also, I'm pretty sure I'm Vorin cause I love when I get to write stories symmetrically Also also another plug for the Eza's Origins thread for option context.

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

4 hours ago, Lunamor said:

There honestly isn't much of a way for Eza to find Eighth right now. She both thinks he is dead and would have no idea how to find a teleported person anyways. Where Eza ran is purposefully ambiguous, she might've wound up near Eighth if the magic(?) that moved him did so in an intentional way. She isn't being very quiet. I'm happy to alter this if you'd like me to, Longshot.

Also, I'm pretty sure I'm Vorin cause I love when I get to write stories symmetrically Also also another plug for the Eza's Origins thread for option context.

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Yeah. My genius plan initially involved having Eza getting teleported out of the collapsing building with Eighth...which I eventually concluded was impossible to do without metagaming, robbing players of agency, or ruining the surprise. That may not have been the best decision, in hindsight.

I'll need to think on this for some time. I may contact you @Lunamor with some ideas. Maybe. Once more, I've done an excellent job writing us into a corner.

Oh, and I hope the internship interview went/will go well for you. Best of luck to you

In any case, I think that's a wrap for Era 7: Ep. 4, @Koloss17. Epilogue time?

 

Edited October 12, 2024 by Longshot97

[Koloss17 She/They]

42 minutes ago, Longshot97 said:

 

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Epilogue time! 
 

@Lunamor and @Longshot97, since you are the main two and the others can probably adapt to it, how long after do you want the epilogue chapter to be? A day? A week? A few weeks? A few months?

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 10/12/2024 at 6:49 AM, Koloss17 said:

Epilogue time! 
 

@Lunamor and @Longshot97, since you are the main two and the others can probably adapt to it, how long after do you want the epilogue chapter to be? A day? A week? A few weeks? A few months?

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After some hurried discourse, it looks like a few months is the best option. Does that work for your plans?